He would get her to come to tea with him, usually in a pleasant tea-room over a fruit-shop in Tottenham Court Road, and he would discuss his own point of view and hint at a thousand devotions were she but to command him. The real ‘Alcide’,” she wound up with a faint smile across the table at him, “is here. I don’t think I shall ever care for this bonnet again. "No; I don't think I'd laugh.
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