She paused for a moment. ‘Good God! Everett Charvill, as I live. But after all, what did it matter whether she had secrets or not? To him she was not a woman but a symbol; and one did not investigate the antecedents of symbols. I always fall on my feet, you know. She is no more English than that set of beggars over there. He could hardly open the envelope, he trembled so.
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