“Just like old times,” she thought sardonically. ” “There is no one else who has a key to your rooms?” “No one except my maid, who is away in Wiltshire. “You have changed somehow—and you certainly are less friendly. They sat face to face beneath an experienced-looking rucksack and a brand new portmanteau and a leather handbag, in the afternoon-boat train that goes from Charing Cross to Folkestone for Boulogne.
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