‘This is a private house,’ Hilary said severely, ‘and you are trespassing. But what the deuce! He was human; he was a machine only when on the hunt. His grip twisted her wrist. Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly. For a moment she too had started and faltered in her exit from the room. She had felt deserving of the punishment, as he had been mainly concerned that she would be killed by accidentally falling into the pit, but it was a terrible insult.
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