Part 3 She dismissed the first hotels she passed, she scarcely knew why, mainly perhaps from the mere dread of entering them, and crossed Waterloo Bridge at a leisurely pace. So, at least, thought one of two persons who were seated together in a small back-parlour of the house at Dollis Hill. Next instant, Gerald felt his wrist seized in an iron grip. Modern, indeed! She was going to be as primordial as chipped flint.
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