“I think, aunt,” she said, “you might trust to my self-respect to keep me out of that. He would get her to come to tea with him, usually in a pleasant tea-room over a fruit-shop in Tottenham Court Road, and he would discuss his own point of view and hint at a thousand devotions were she but to command him. Will you unlock that door?” “Never!” he said. ‘No more, Saling, no more,’ said Mrs Sindlesham in accents of exhaustion. But the objects in his range of vision remained unchanged.
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