She could still remember herself at age five, staring knives and daggers at the men who came into the small yarn shop, under pretense of business but really just to leer. He appeared suddenly from the infinite in the neighborhood of the Burlington Arcade, crossing the pavement toward her and with his eyes upon her. ‘You are a born rebel, ma’am, and I can see now where she gets it from. There were dark rims under her eyes, soft now with unshed tears. She had reason enough to be grateful to Prudence Sindlesham and it was not fair that this horrible feeling of loneliness should be made known to her. To the duckling, peas, and other delicacies, intended for Mr. Mr. Move. He had plugged along, if not happy, at least with sound philosophy. Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly. You must not, however, accompany me, Jack.
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