The flight. It would hurt no one. It was high afternoon, there was no great throng of footpassengers, and many an eye from omnibus and pavement rested gratefully on her fresh, trim presence as she passed young and erect, with the light of determination shining through the quiet self-possession of her face. Her depression since the “accident” had possessed her, she no longer cared how she looked as her beauty helped her not. For whom had its sharp point been intended? Valade? Or perhaps his wife now that the girl had word of their marriage. I came to London to look for you, and somehow the figure I saw in my dreams had got mixed up with you.
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