\"Do you mind if I sit with you?\" He asked as he followed her. “I propose,” Sir John said, “that we pay for our dinner—which we haven’t had— tip the garçon a sovereign, and take a cab to the Ritz. You’re tired, of course. It was the same smell that she had in his memory, but now it was definite, palpable, like a perfume. The same teardrop bust, the same long waist, the same thick legs. ‘Is that why you allowed me in, ma’am?’ A dimple appeared in the faded cheek.
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