I remember how, after our third bout of talking, I walked back through the streets of Utopian London to rejoin the botanist at our hotel.
My double lived in an apartment in a great building—I should judge about where, in our London, the Tate Gallery squats, and, as the day was fine, and I had no reason for hurry, I went not by the covered mechanical way, but on foot along the broad, tree-set terraces that follow the river on either side.
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