’ ‘Success?’ Her eyes narrowed. I wonder if he really wants me to go home. A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind. It was bleeding again. She drifted, via Theobald’s Road, obliquely toward the region about Titchfield Street. It did not occur to her that save for some accidents of education and character they had souls like her own.
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