She took it up in her many-ringed hands and read it judicially. She read the policeman’s rueful glance when she caught his refection in his rearview mirror. At this time of day the priest would be at his apartments in Brewer Street, a short walk away from Golden Square which the building overlooked. "Come with me, my love, come—come," cried his mother, seizing his hand, and endeavouring to force him away. It won’t even know whether to be scandalized at us or forgiving.
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