He would get her to come to tea with him, usually in a pleasant tea-room over a fruit-shop in Tottenham Court Road, and he would discuss his own point of view and hint at a thousand devotions were she but to command him. “You will pardon me, sir,” he said in a subdued tone, “but I think that you have forgotten to look at your engagement book. ‘It is Yol—’ She broke off abruptly, her face collapsing into an expression of acute consternation.
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