There is a place—This isn’t the place. Nothing like the direct approach, she thought. He had dungarees on and a blue work shirt. ’ So pat, thought Gerald. He embraced her like her father once had. “Why not? They tell me that London is impossible till after ten, and I want my first impressions to be favourable. ’ It is the Press who find her out. But as she got out of the train at Morningside Park Station she had a shock. Paris, always beautiful even in the darkness, glittered away to the horizon. Blotted out—Love! With infinite care, through nearly a thousand pages, her father had obliterated the word Love.
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