” He consumed Irish stew for some moments. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you so badly,’ he said, still meeting her eyes, unaware that his hold about her hand had tightened a little. They drove up into Paris in an open fiacre with a soft cool wind blowing in their faces, hand in hand beneath the rug. He glanced downwards at the impetuous torrent, which he could perceive shooting past him with lightning swiftness in the gloom.
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