" "Murdered!" ejaculated Winifred. The expression pervading the countenance of the one was vulgarity; of the other, that which is rarely found, except in persons of high birth. 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. Her parents left two weeks later, the weather still fine. She wished that the drive would never end, but it was only three miles after all. Winifred instantly picked it up. You will be—my wife. There's the paragraph.
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