The room was worse than pokey, it was shabby; and the view from the window, of chimney pots and slate roofs, wholly uninspiring. “Couldn’t we three go out and have some coffee somewhere? The thought of that drawing-room paralyses me. Sheppard, pressing her hand to her temples. The stench is everywhere. He took her hand and looked into her eyes and spoke, divided against himself, in a voice that was forced and insincere.
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