" "The Black Lion!" echoed Terence. ‘But you,’ she said in the friendliest way imaginable, ‘are a person tout à fait sympathique, I think. "Rot, weren't they?" "No. And how can I get into one brief letter the complex accumulated desires of what is now, I find on reference to my diary, nearly sixteen months of letting my mind run on you— ever since that jolly party at Surbiton, where we raced and beat the other boat.
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