"Whose child can this be?" "How the devil should I know!" replied Jonathan gruffly. He would get her to come to tea with him, usually in a pleasant tea-room over a fruit-shop in Tottenham Court Road, and he would discuss his own point of view and hint at a thousand devotions were she but to command him. He beamed a little as she disappeared into the orchestra room, a cacophony of tuning instruments. Then for the first time she was conscious of an unaccountable and terrifying sensation.
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