She had changed into dungarees herself and kept her hair as it was. He read but little, and that chiefly healthy light fiction with chromatic titles, The Red Sword, The Black Helmet, The Purple Robe, also in order “to distract his mind. He was sickeningly aroused by their hands as he slipped in and out of consciousness. “Drive to 13, Montague Street, cabman,” she ordered. “What can one say?” she exclaimed.
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