Superstition—you knock into it whichever way you turn. She lunched at a creamery in Great Portland Street, and as the day was full of wintry sunshine, spent the rest of the lunch-hour in a drowsy gloom, which she imagined to be thought upon the problems of her position, on a seat in Regent’s Park. Her cheeks were aflame. I’m sorry. ‘And I have a very good mind to kill you. “You can’t imagine,” Sydney exclaimed, “that the people downstairs will be such drivelling asses as to believe piffle like that. His wife met him at the door, and into her hands he delivered his little charge.
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