Sunk of a sudden in profoundest
gloom he led the way to the exit, walking like a shamefaced plebeian
who had got into the room by mistake. Polly's spirits were higher
than ever. Just beyond the electric glare she thrust her arm under
that of her mute companion.
"You don't want me to git run over, do you?"
Parish had a thrill of satisfaction, but with difficulty he spoke.
"Let's get out of this crowd--beastly, isn't it?"
"I don't mind a crowd. I like it when I've someone to hang on by."
"Oh, I don't mind it, I like just what you like. What time did you
say it was, Miss Sparkes?"
"Just eleven. Time I was gettin' 'ome. There'll be a bus at the
corner."
"I hoped you were going to walk," urged Christopher timidly.
"S'pose I might just as well--if you'll take care of me."
It was a long time since Polly had been so gracious, so mild. All
the way down Whitehall, across the bridge, and into Kennington Road
she chatted of a hundred things, but never glanced at the one which
held complete possession of Christopher's mind.
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