Ireton rushed forward to open the wicket for him. She was the High Priestess. The next moment he was by her side. She turned and looked at the red LED of the alarm clock that read 3:55. He conveyed not only his sense of the extreme want of correctitude in their unsanctioned meetings, but also that, so far as he was concerned, this irregularity mattered not at all, that he had flung—and kept on flinging—such considerations to the wind.
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