She looked at her flattened belly. The Iron Bar. The girl who had just left the room was as great a mystery to him now as on the afternoon when he had met her in Piccadilly and taken her to tea. There were mysterious rustlings that made him glance hopefully toward the sea. We were fellow passengers from Charing Cross, and we have been fellow lodgers in the Rue d’Entrepot. It must be sent home this evening.
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