They sat face to face beneath an experienced-looking rucksack and a brand new portmanteau and a leather handbag, in the afternoon-boat train that goes from Charing Cross to Folkestone for Boulogne. Stanley, consenting with dignity. I call myself a man of the world, a man of many experiences, but I never knew what love meant—until I met your sister. . ’ ‘Oh, have you?’ grunted Gerald, surprising in himself a surge of some odd emotion at these words. “You know what? You’re right. Impressed with this idea, he paused for a moment to listen.
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