Loneliness. He lunched in the Legal Club in Chancery Lane, and met Ogilvy. He must have been following her from room to room, silent in his stockinged feet. ‘How in God’s name did the wretched fellow get in then?’ ‘Dug a tunnel?’ suggested Gerald, halting next to a pair of French windows at the front. Here, indeed, was a type with which he had never until now come into contact—a natural woman.
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