There was a lapse of time, an interval of blackness; then he found his hand in hers and she was leading him at a run up the side of the mountain. The fibre of his soul had to be tested, queerly, to make him worthy of you. No one spoke, and she was impelled to flounder on. He would ask her to come to dinner with him in some little Italian or semiBohemian restaurant in the district toward Soho, or in one of the more stylish and magnificent establishments about Piccadilly Circus, and for the most part she did not care to refuse.
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