Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly. In the struggle, Mrs. ‘Lord in heaven, did I do that?’ exclaimed Gerald remorsefully. " The Wastrel rushed. “What was that?” she asked sharply. “You know,” he went on, “this doesn’t seem to me to end anything. ‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey. He seemed to be about to move toward her.
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