"Strange!" he continued, as if talking to himself. “I didn’t know Mr. The London backgrounds, in Bloomsbury and Marylebone, against which these people went to and fro, took on, by reason of their gray facades, their implacably respectable windows and window-blinds, their reiterated unmeaning iron railings, a stronger and stronger suggestion of the flavor of her father at his most obdurate phase, and of all that she felt herself fighting against. Few approached the émigrés directly, preferring to stare covertly from behind their fans, while pretending to admire the simple elegance of Lady Bicknacre’s neo-classical refurbishments. They talked for the better part of an hour, and at last walked together to the junction of highroad and the bridle-path. But though she lied about pretty much everything else, she didn’t lie about that. “I saw you go into that place, and I have been waiting for you ever since.
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