Could you come to tea at my rooms one afternoon, or would you dine with me somewhere, and do a theatre? We could have a private room, of course, if you do not wish to be seen about London, and a box at the theatre. The bridge was open. Gosse had moved forward, his pistol arm out straight, his aim true, the gun cocked. His face was aquiline but sweet, the years had not yet taken the blush from his cheeks and his lips were similarly rubefacient. Certainly I cannot kill you if you tell me to do so.
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