loved them so.
"I love you," (John speaking.)
"I think I must have always loved you." (Mary going it.)
He took her hand in his.
Nobody noticed them. They were as much alone as if they had been at the National Gallery together. Many of the guests were going through similar scenes of recognition and love-making; others were asking each other if they had read "William Trewulliam" yet, and lying about it others again were making for the buffet. John and Mary had the world to themselves. …
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