“I propose,” Sir John said, “that we pay for our dinner—which we haven’t had— tip the garçon a sovereign, and take a cab to the Ritz. The deafening report froze time. “I’d rather go as a chorus-girl,” she said. She would be haunted by the visions of their mad faces in her dreams for the next hundred years. Through all he said ran one quality that pleased her—the quality of a man who feels that things can be done, that one need not wait for the world to push one before one moved. At other times, it would seem that the sea itself had gone away. She had asked to borrow his pencil out of dire necessity. "I'll have to set you right on that, too. He still watched her and questioned her.
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