By this time, the procession had reached the west end of the wall of St. . “How do you feel?” she asked. . “I am lonely. The wedding procession passed on, and the cynical rabble poured in behind. I am sorry that I do not know any one in London. I've destroyed my only chance. Of you—an angel with one wing. “You are my friend,” she said, “if any one is. ” She grinned. And my word's law—with you, at least," she added, bestowing a cutting glance upon her husband.
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