“I think,” she said, “that I will tell you everything. What were you doing at Remenham House? I can’t puzzle that bit out. He placed his chin upon the top of her head. There was first the Avenue, which ran in a consciously elegant curve from the railway station into an undeveloped wilderness of agriculture, with big, yellow brick villas on either side, and then there was the pavement, the little clump of shops about the postoffice, and under the railway arch was a congestion of workmen’s dwellings. At this place of refuge, situated in the heart of Wapping, near the river-side, he arrived in less than an hour, in a complete state of exhaustion. “Good,” he said, as he watched the colour come back to her cheeks. [Illustration: Distinctive Pictures Corporation. I never saw a man who wasn't.
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