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. He was a man who in all things classified without nuance, and for him there were in the matter of age just two feminine classes and no more—girls and women. ‘You will not, pig,’ cried Melusine. She went further: she doubted that he was fully conscious of where he was.
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