Her cheeks burned for a moment or two when she reached the street, although she held her head upright and walked blithely, even humming to herself fragments of an old French song. And she had been doubting since that walk in the Zoological Gardens whether, indeed, he did simply care for her. You know the sort of thing. “John. " "Not now," returned Thames, impatiently. And then as we went down you’d try to explain.
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