It was as if Grace-church Street, with all its shops, its magazines, and ceaseless throng of passengers, were stretched from the Middlesex to the Surrey shore. He did not spend more time with her. What was he doing? What was he thinking? It was less than a day now, less than twenty hours. Blotted out—Love! With infinite care, through nearly a thousand pages, her father had obliterated the word Love. ‘All right, Trodger.
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