Apparently he did not see his recent companions. “It isn’t anything to do with our times particularly. Perhaps an hour passed before she laid aside the book. All at once her heart began to patter queerly. ‘Your mystery lady, I mean. He tore his gaze away, aware of the quickening of his heartbeat. The very carts and vans and cabs that Wellington Street poured out incessantly upon the bridge seemed ripe and good in her eyes. Her eyes followed him. ‘But a spy I am not. “She’s my wife,” the man muttered.
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