She found herself mildly entertained by staring at the houses through the rain as she walked home, all cast in a gray blurry film noir gauze of rain. “I don’t know whether I shall go on,” said Gwen, a novel note of languorous professionalism creeping into her voice. Don’t ask me how. Sir Rowland, who had continued absorbed in thought, with his eyes fixed upon the sloop, as she made her way slowly down the river, disembarked more leisurely.
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