The lunches were individual affairs: sandwiches, bottled olives and jam commandeered from the Victoria. ’ ‘And I love the way you call me imbecile,’ finished Gerald. “Are you with us?” said the tired woman. “I can’t believe it. A distant suggestion of chalets and a glimpse of the road set them talking for a time of the world they had left behind. A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind.
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