“I love you, I always will. "Where are you going?" cried Thames, who, though wholly disencumbered, was scarcely able to keep up with him. If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent. “It can’t make any difference to you, and there are not half a dozen people in Paris who could tell us apart. I'm neither an infidel nor an agnostic, so I'll content myself by saying that the hand of God is in this somewhere.
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