“Stay where you are for a moment,” she directed. Where was the harm in letting her go? She could not get far. 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. To-night she had a curious feeling that she stood upon the threshold of some change.
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