He had done this a dozen times on the way from his office. She pointed across the road. She had imagined she had drowned them altogether. She went about in a negligent November London that had become very dark and foggy and greasy and forbidding indeed, and tried to find that modest but independent employment she had so rashly assumed. “I shall be waiting for you there, and in the meantime, if you will help yourself—pray don’t look like that. To-night all London believes that he was your husband. ’ ‘I’m that sorry, miss,’ Kimble said glumly.
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