I told her it was the end. It was rude and disrespectful to raise her eyes to him, her mother had warned. But they were too late. They sat face to face beneath an experienced-looking rucksack and a brand new portmanteau and a leather handbag, in the afternoon-boat train that goes from Charing Cross to Folkestone for Boulogne. She remembered abruptly that she was really living upon his money. "That depends upon you.
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