It was still raining heavily, and profoundly dark. ‘I know,’ said Prudence Sindlesham, sympathy in her tone. After these dinners they would have a walk, usually to the Thames Embankment to see the two sweeps of river on either side of Waterloo Bridge; and then they would part at Westminster Bridge, perhaps, and he would go on to Waterloo. Always as black and bitter as gall. How much he would be able to do for her. Indeed it was apparent, from the likeness between them, that they were nearly related.
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