The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. The south-east end of the island was hillocky, with volcanic subsoil. Miss Stanley walked round the garden thinking, and presently house and garden reverberated to Ann Veronica’s slamming of the front door. "Relating to the father of the boy—Thames Darrell," supplied Jonathan.
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