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It seemed to them they could never have been really alive before, but only dimly anticipating existence. . The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping. ’ Chapter Three Captain Hilary Roding listened with only half an ear to the long-winded report being given by Sergeant Trodger, his idle gaze wandering over the congested traffic of Piccadilly and the many pedestrians weaving a hazardous path through it.
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