" "But not for me," growled Terence, in an under tone. Women never throw themselves into each other's arms; they calculate the distance and the damage perfectly. To her mind, recalling the picture of him the night before, there had been something tragic in the grim silent manner of his tippling. ” “Thanks to me,” he repeated, puzzled. She had followed a bobbing white hat and gray jacket until she reached the Euston Road corner of Tottenham Court Road, and there, by the name on a bus and the cries of a conductor, she made a guess of her way. The dance itself was anticlimactic, with teenagers trying their best to look the part of adult sophisticates on the dance floor.
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