The girl who had just left the room was as great a mystery to him now as on the afternoon when he had met her in Piccadilly and taken her to tea. She liked the high, easy swing of the thing over its big wheels, the quick clatter-patter of the horse, the passage of the teeming streets. Just as they reached the eastern outlet of the churchyard— where the tall elms cast a pleasant shade over the rustic graves—a momentary stoppage took place. "I love her already. ‘What is this proof?’ ‘I will not tell you.
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