‘They’ve gone, miss,’ came the answer, muffled through the panel door. He had, he felt, to create certain ideas and vivify certain curiosities and feelings in her. She asked the inevitable question, the one she knew Michelle was waiting to field like a quarterback anticipating the pass. A faint, delightfully humorous smile parted her lips. Well, they’d got to the pheasants, and in a little while he would smoke. The concourse extended along Giltspur Street as far as Smithfield.
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