He smiled. She was aware of him—a silk-hatted, shiny-black figure on the opposite side of the Avenue; and then, abruptly and startlingly, he crossed the road and saluted and spoke to her. But don't thank me; thank Miss Enschede. She started at the falling of a leaf, at the lumbering of a cow through the hedge. . ’ She tried to shake his hands off her wrists, but Gerald held them fast and tutted at her. “It is a night of endings,” she murmured to herself.
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