“You doubted me?” She joked. All the sombre visions she had been pressing back, fighting out of her thoughts, swarmed over the barrier and crushed her. His hands reached under her skirt. Not one of them but bore the marks of having been engaged in a recent and severe conflict. How does one get work? She walked along the Strand and across Trafalgar Square, and by the Haymarket to Piccadilly, and so through dignified squares and palatial alleys to Oxford Street; and her mind was divided between a speculative treatment of employment on the one hand, and breezes—zephyr breezes—of the keenest appreciation for London, on the other.
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