“She must go her own way. She had never experienced anything so disagreeable in her life as the sense of being held helplessly off her feet. It consisted of a close jerkin of brown frieze, ornamented with a triple row of brass buttons; loose Dutch slops, made very wide in the seat and very tight at the knees; red stockings with black clocks, and a fur cap. To—to find myself. Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly. She went to the table under the end window at which she had been accustomed to work, and found it swept and garnished with full bottles of re-agents. ‘Let us go elsewhere and discuss the matter.
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