” “It’s the perpetual trouble,” he said, “of parent and child. Hollo rumbled in his throat. The Reaper is not sated yet. And behind— there was Paris, memories of amazing things, memories which made his cheeks burn and his heart beat quickly as he sat there waiting for her. Arrived at Paddington, he struck across Marylebone Fields,—for as yet the New Road was undreamed of,—and never moderated his speed until he reached the city. Her eyes flashed. He turned in at the club.
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