Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly. She loved to walk through the gardens, graced with columns that loomed overhead. Spurling had retired for the night. I shall quit it and go abroad. “When did you get home last night, Lucy?” Cathy interrogated through a yawn. His hair was thick and brown and his skin was fair.
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