Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly. ‘By the by, get Trodger to send up one of our best men, will you? Someone discreet. Her sister’s words were true. Presently she was going through a swaying, noisy crowd, whose faces grinned and stared pitilessly in the light of the electric standards. ’ Her features broke apart in a laugh. As though it was indelicate—it’s just a sort of shyness.
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