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’ ‘A convent?’ echoed Gerald with interest. Only the major won’t have it, and we’ve to bide by what the major says. Her eyes were wide and bright. She had followed a bobbing white hat and gray jacket until she reached the Euston Road corner of Tottenham Court Road, and there, by the name on a bus and the cries of a conductor, she made a guess of her way. Then she put more coal on, piled it over the ashes, and stood once more upright.
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