What was the objection? She found it impossible to look her own diffidence in the face. Both arm-chairs had been moved a little so as to face each other on either side of the fender, and in the circular glow of the green-shaded lamp there lay, conspicuously waiting, a thick bundle of blue and white papers tied with pink tape. It was the one that she had sworn she’d throw out, if only Julian had not liked it so much. “Drive to 13, Montague Street, cabman,” she ordered. .
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