John’s demeanor shifted. “Let me show you something. I don’t know. Now, abruptly, they were real again, though very distant, and she had come to say farewell to them across one sundering year. About the Abbey and Abingdon Street stood the outer pickets and detachments of the police, their attention all directed westward to where the women in Caxton Hall, Westminster, hummed like an angry hive.
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