“You were born for great things,” he said huskily. To-morrow, we'll go to the Fleet and get spliced. “I have come to tell you this. Supper was over. . ” She stepped into the curtains as Martin stared daggers. Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly. “Of course,” said Miss Miniver—she went on in a regularly undulating voice —“we DO please men.
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