Jack, whose back was towards it, did not see it; but he heard, from the pitying exclamations of the crowd, that it was in view. The stranger concluded he could not be far from his destination, and a turn in the road showed him the house. She plucked at the knots of her racket and heard him to the end, then spoke in a restrained undertone. Everything was fresh and bright, from the kindly manners of the Frutigen cobbler, who hammered mountain nails into her boots, to the unfamiliar wild flowers that spangled the wayside. “A glass slipped from the table,” he explained. By policemen one mustn’t shock. But she made a pretence of struggling a little, for it would be out of character for her not to do so and she did not want to arouse his suspicions. "Arundel Stairs," replied Wood, "the nearest point to Wych Street. Eyebrows knitting, she looked towards the ground a few feet away from him, guiltily. She looked and felt like a fairy princess. Wood.
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