Gerald gave the porter a shilling. The man saluted. They were in
motion.
'What was all the row about?' asked Gerald, in wondering excitement.
'I walked away with Birkin's letter,' she said, and he saw the crushed
paper in her hand.
His eyes glittered with satisfaction.
'Ah!' he said. 'Splendid! A set of jackasses!'
'I could have KILLED them!' she cried in passion. 'DOGS!--they are
dogs! Why is Rupert such a FOOL as to write such letters to them? Why
does he give himself away to such canaille? It's a thing that CANNOT BE
BORNE.'
Gerald wondered over her strange passion.
And she could not rest any longer in London. They must go by the
morning train from Charing Cross. As they drew over the bridge, in the
train, having glimpses of the river between the great iron girders, she
cried:
'I feel I could NEVER see this foul town again--I couldn't BEAR to come
back to it.'
CHAPTER XXIX.
CONTINENTAL
Ursula went on in an unreal suspense, the last weeks before going away.
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