If she had any idea at all, it was something she dimly recalled from her books: something celestially beautiful, with a happy ending. She had just managed to reach it, grabbing for the handle, when the enemy’s cracked command halted her. Could you come to tea at my rooms one afternoon, or would you dine with me somewhere, and do a theatre? We could have a private room, of course, if you do not wish to be seen about London, and a box at the theatre. "Oh!" she gasped.
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