The night had swallowed him up, but his work on her was done. They are things faint and slight in themselves, as physical facts, but they are like the detonator of a bomb: they let loose the explosive. Even in her hatred, she began to realize that Sebastian’s intelligence was much greater than Gianfrancesco’s. This was number 13, Montague Street, familiarly spoken of in the neighbourhood as “White’s. What more could any reasonable man— especially a watchman—desire? Besides, the Marquis, is a devilish fine fellow, and a particular friend of mine. ” “Sooner or later. ” She hesitated. He was beginning to think about her inordinately.
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