The acid of this incertitude had disintegrated his nerve; and in Canton had come the smash. When they were home, the pair headed for the Big Apple or the warmth of the Beck’s family table. She had but to choose. She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home. ‘In that case, he is probably already dead, and you have nothing to worry about. White’s boarding-house in Russell Square.
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