They sat face to face beneath an experienced-looking rucksack and a brand new portmanteau and a leather handbag, in the afternoon-boat train that goes from Charing Cross to Folkestone for Boulogne. ‘What the devil for? I’ll have one of the men ride the creature up tomorrow. You see, I’m separated from my wife. He had no use for Ann Veronica; he had never had a use for her since she had been too old to sit upon his knee. She rested her head upon his shoulder.
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