"How shall I get to you?" "My yacht is in the river. Little more’n a week. She, however, had no idea of doing anything of the sort. How does one get work? She walked along the Strand and across Trafalgar Square, and by the Haymarket to Piccadilly, and so through dignified squares and palatial alleys to Oxford Street; and her mind was divided between a speculative treatment of employment on the one hand, and breezes—zephyr breezes—of the keenest appreciation for London, on the other. I wonder if a man can quite understand that passionate feeling? It is quite a passionate feeling. He stood up and she ushered him out of the small room. "I say," retorted Edgeworth Bess, with a very unfeminine imprecation, "I shan't stand any more of that nonsense.
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