“David Courtlaw!” she repeated. He would get her to come to tea with him, usually in a pleasant tea-room over a fruit-shop in Tottenham Court Road, and he would discuss his own point of view and hint at a thousand devotions were she but to command him. His car was there. It is better to face the truth. He now understood her interest in Taber, as he called himself: habit, a twice-told tale.
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