It was a port of call, since fortnightly a British mail-boat dropped her mudhook in the bay. Dim souls flitted about her, not only speaking but it would seem even thinking in undertones. And at last Ann Veronica and Miss Miniver came down the dark staircase and out into the foggy spaces of the London squares, and crossed Russell Square, Woburn Square, Gordon Square, making an oblique route to Ann Veronica’s lodging. .
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