‘Exactly like my father. She had never even brought a friend home in her time at the Becks, let alone been asked on dates. Red velvet curtains rustled under dim lights as the door shut with a heavy snap. “I heard the other day that she’d been taken in by some cad of a fellow who was cutting a great dash in Paris, personating Meysey Hill, the great railway man. The evenings were dulcet and soft.
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