Blank it was, except for a gate near the bridgehead. Sheila’s own waif of a husband had objected to her airing the truth, he had even gotten the nerve to bring up the word divorce. She ought to have leapt back on guard. I suppose I was a little idiotic—I don’t think we either of us mentioned the future, but it was arranged that I should go the next afternoon and have tea with her. He turned. “Thank God,” he exclaimed.
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