She was looking anxiously at the entrance to the restaurant. The floor was strewn with screws, nails, fragments of wood and stone, and across the passage lay the heavy iron fillet. They used the rope—not that a rope was at all necessary, but because Ann Veronica’s exalted state of mind made the fact of the rope agreeably symbolical; and, anyhow, it did insure a joint death in the event of some remotely possibly mischance. “You promised faithfully to be there,” he said slowly.
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