Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly. She tried to appear as if she had never been questioned before. Only an undermaid I was then. She was dressed for the street very much as her own maid was accustomed to dress, and there was a thick veil attached to her hat. ’ She gestured at his hand, on which Roding’s makeshift bandage had been replaced by a more efficient one. We men are like children.
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