He would get her to come to tea with him, usually in a pleasant tea-room over a fruit-shop in Tottenham Court Road, and he would discuss his own point of view and hint at a thousand devotions were she but to command him. I asked him—to take me away. “One is always playing the surgeon, one kills always the thing one loves best. We’re the hysterical animal, Mr. ‘Up, Jacques, up,’ she ordered.
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