Only her ungloved fingers, and the arms in their long tight sleeves as she held the heavy gun aloft, bore any sign of stiffness. She sensed he might try and wane on her doorstep. Giles's church, the bell of which continued tolling all the time, passed the pound, and entered Oxford Road, or, as it was then not unfrequently termed, Tyburn Road. ‘But only think, Hilary,’ Lucy protested, evidently too involved in her theory to waste time in scolding. “We are only in the dawn of the Age of Friendship,” he said, “when interest, I suppose, will take the place of passions.
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