’ Triumph soared in Gerald’s chest. She walked with long swinging steps, scorning the thought of buses or the tube. “Have you ever seen Annabel with him?” she asked. And I think also that Gosse—I mean that one who calls himself Valade—stole it. They travelled past the few idle sightseers who had braved the uninviting evening to see what the Suffragettes might be doing; they pulled up unchallenged within thirty yards of those coveted portals. I told her it was the end. The girl regarded him with the face of a Sphinx.
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