He was way out of her league and it was downright odd that he had obliged himself to talk to her, let alone walk her home. Giles's church, the bell of which continued tolling all the time, passed the pound, and entered Oxford Road, or, as it was then not unfrequently termed, Tyburn Road. He conveyed not only his sense of the extreme want of correctitude in their unsanctioned meetings, but also that, so far as he was concerned, this irregularity mattered not at all, that he had flung—and kept on flinging—such considerations to the wind. “How unkind!” she exclaimed. The houses on Snow Hill were thronged, like those in Old Bailey. He drove her home that night, kissing her again and again at stoplights.
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