I didn’t betray you, I swear I didn’t. The locket contained the face of her mother—all the family album she had. Two or three podgy-looking old men with wives to match, half-a-dozen overdressed girls, and a couple of underdressed American ones, who still wore the clothes in which they had been tramping half over London since breakfast time. She had seen Mrs. Only now it does not matter at all because Joan has come and has seen me.
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