He often wanted only to drive with her in the car, both of them staring at the scenery in silence for hours. ‘What is it?’ asked Roding. ” She repeated, as if she answered an objector: “A sort of blacklegging. " "It wasn't the fumes of whisky that toppled him out of his chair. A species of vertigo seized him. And then, as she stood there, with the fragments of the torn canvas at her feet, some even caught upon her skirt, the door was thrown open, and a girl entered humming a light tune.
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