‘Well, I thought as how someone in the house in Paddington might see me hanging about outside like. “Yes?” he said. ‘Looks like it. 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. It began to rain, a cold sweat of precipitation that was more sickly than refreshing. “Now listen. “Annabel,” she said, “you are my sister, or I would bid you take the flowers if you care for them, and leave the room. ‘I knew I should find you still here.
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