The commissionaire stood there, tall and imperturbable. I don’t think I’ve got illusions, nor you. The arrival of the cart at the end of Field Lane, appeared the signal for an attempt at rescue. ‘Thank you,’ she said, leaning heavily on his arm for a moment. I knew it. It was time to leave America. But his words were borne away by the driving wind. “I think, perhaps if you will excuse me, that we will defer the luncheon. .
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