’ ‘Well, sir? Who is “she”? Not my granddaughter, I take it. Only a son’s another story. ’ Gerald seized on this. ’ ‘Oh, she is English?’ repeated Alderley, interest perking up. Absolutely. 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. " "That's reasonable. Gray and tranquil world! Amazing, passionless world! A world in which days without meaning, days in which “we don’t want things to happen” followed days without meaning—until the last thing happened, the ultimate, unavoidable, coarse, “disagreeable. Paris copies London.
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