“It’s very good,” she said. “When did you start?” She said between puffs. Moving swiftly to the end of the corridor, he pushed open a door at random and entered a large room, which looked to have been a saloon, judging from the faded gilt and crimson wall-paper, a mirror above the fireplace which was surrounded by an ornate gilded frame, now sadly tarnished, and a worn Chippendale sofa with striped upholstery and tasselled cushions. “You will always have to run from normal people and normal life, John. During the week, her uniform was the blue and white scrubs of a nurse, the job she had suffered at for twenty-seven years. ‘How could I know that it is you?’ She peered at him in the darkness. Pure romantic nonsense on her part.
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