Her heels made contact with Rhea’s knees and hobbled her with a crack. Oh, John. 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. Still, that leaves over a million shrines short, not reckoning widows who re-marry. “To my chagrin, I have. The Jacobite daws want a scarecrow. He was like a man beside himself.
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