Jonathan, however, paid no sort of attention to this demonstration of hatred. “Are you cold?” He asked her, cocking his head to one side like a puppy, so close that the heat of his words warmed her cheek. He lowered his voice a little and leaned over towards her. She arrived about nine o’clock the next evening in a state of tremulous enthusiasm. The one problem was that it didn’t fly. She liked the high, easy swing of the thing over its big wheels, the quick clatter-patter of the horse, the passage of the teeming streets. ‘Oh, peste,’ she cried out in distressed tones.
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