We can’t be lovers in the ordinary sense, but we can be great and intimate friends. There is not a soul in the inn but ourselves. He boasted of her ability to learn to men who were a stone’s throw from having the power of the pope himself. She has also been afflicted with occasional returns of her terrible malady. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. “Queer letters he writes,” she said.
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