It’s just upon my lunch-time. What hotel should she go to? If she told a cabman to drive to an hotel, any hotel, what would he do—or say? He might drive to something dreadfully expensive, and not at all the quiet sort of thing she required. The girl stood with her hands behind her back, sulky, resolute, and intelligent, a strand of her black hair over one eye and looking more than usually delicate-featured, and more than ever like an obdurate child. Wood laughed louder than ever. Lucy’s guts ached with jealousy and bitterness, building in a knot that twisted in her stomach, rag-like. "Get ready the irons, Caliban. Though I’ll wager she used this passage, and we certainly ought to investigate it. In Paddington.
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