"Restore it," he cried, in an authoritative voice. He would ask her to come to dinner with him in some little Italian or semiBohemian restaurant in the district toward Soho, or in one of the more stylish and magnificent establishments about Piccadilly Circus, and for the most part she did not care to refuse. A fierce struggle ensued. Melusine fetched her stool and plonked it down next to her great-aunt’s chair. We have played at a little mild lovemaking again. “TROUSERS!” she whispered. We have lived under the same roof, but our ways seem to have lain wide apart.
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