“Call it warning, if you like. Like a river swollen by many currents, it gathered force from the various avenues that poured their streams into it. Dieu du ciel, what was it? She turned slowly, listening for the direction of the sound. James’ Park?” Anna nodded, and made a careful selection from a dish of quails. It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. Then he stood up and hailed a fiacre.
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