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. How long he sat there, reeling off this drivel, he never knew. "What are those odd-looking things on the roofs?" she asked of Ah Cum. “What are we going to do?” said Capes, with his eyes on the broad distances beyond the ribbon of the river.
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