“You must fetch a doctor,” she said. On this side a flight of wooden steps, protected by a hand-rail, led to a door opening upon the summit of the prison. Loving was self-forgetfulness, pure delighting in another human being. For the first time a definite doubt possessed him. She recoiled. They sat face to face beneath an experienced-looking rucksack and a brand new portmanteau and a leather handbag, in the afternoon-boat train that goes from Charing Cross to Folkestone for Boulogne.
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