Then she took her sister’s hand. It was at the top of the building, and looked clear over a clustering mass of inferior buildings toward Regent’s Park. Her soul was full of the sense of disaster. “I always get off here and lean over that rail for a bit. “What is the good of pretending?” she said. Blackness was beginning to consume the cornfield. She whispered, “Another car is coming,” as lights approached their car. “The little English girl is very fortunate. I MUST.
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