They walked across a moat of pea gravel that crunched like noisy cereal under their feet. Kicked out of there for something shady. But he was a thief, a fugitive from justice. Her cheeks were the colour of chalk, her eyes were filled with terror. And, mind! no prevaricating—nothing but the truth will satisfy me. 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. Her tone should have warned him, but he was too much in earnest to regard it. ‘How so?’ he asked, and she noted that he allowed his pistol to dangle a little from his fingers. I must go and dress at once.
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