It was filled with sopping lichens and green benches too slimy to sit upon. He remembered little whispered speeches of hers, so like the Annabel of Paris, so unlike the woman he loved, a hundred little things should have told him long ago. Let me go my own way towards them. What had happened to it? She had broken it, certainly. She disengaged her hands and stood up. The others hurried to the window. She gazed steadily out of the window at that arc of glittering lights.
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