Lucy crouched by the side of the grave, her head in her hands, rocking back and forth. ‘At me,’ she uttered, holding her own pistol high and aiming it steadily. “I can assure you that it was quite unnecessary. You are wholly in my power. ” She marked an hotel that seemed neither opulent nor odd in a little side street opening on the Embankment, made up her mind with an effort, and, returning by Hungerford Bridge to Waterloo, took a cab to this chosen refuge with her two pieces of luggage. Instead of English villas and cottages there were chalets and Italian-built houses shining white; there were lakes of emerald and sapphire and clustering castles, and such sweeps of hill and mountain, such shining uplands of snow, as she had never seen before. This is also the ragged edge of the world, too. \" She opened the front door with her keys, stepping inside. Canton was something like a blind alley; unless you were native, you couldn't get anywhere except by returning to Hong-Kong and starting afresh. 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. “I wonder,” he said, “if women do know things by instinct? I have my doubts about feminine instinct.
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