Beneath the hood it was evident that her rebellious hair was bound up with red silk, and fastened by some device in her ears (unless she had them pierced, which was too dreadful a thing to suppose!) were long brass filigree earrings. I suppose this is the sort of damned rubbish—” “Oh! Ssh, Peter!” cried Miss Stanley. This laughter released something that had been striving for expression—her own natural buoyancy. ’ She advanced towards him. Her mind turned to her own future, the endless trickle of years. Indeed I must. 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.
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