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It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. Gwen—I saw Gwen the other day, and the paint’s thicker than ever. He took her hand in his, raising it closer, and gently touched the maltreated skin. They had not proceeded far when a low moan was heard. ’ As a matter of fact, I am not. They bounced without merriment over bumpy Roman roads, and by the time they arrived she was extremely nauseous. ‘That,’ he said stonily, ‘is yet another point over which we fell out.
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