But days had now passed. “Hello? She’s like, your girlfriend, not mine. “Fred,” he said, “do you remember taking me to dinner at the ‘Ambassador’s,’ one evening last September, to meet a girl who was singing there? Hamilton and Drummond and his lot were with us. Then suddenly her spirit rose in revolt. The Frenchman had moved back into Piccadilly from Down Street, at which the lad following him had immediately sauntered away a yard or two. It began as a joke. "I've won, after all. ‘It had better not be, by God,’ had barked Captain Hilary Roding.
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