Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly. ‘Nothing of the sort,’ argued Gerald. But indeed that is not at all a good description of her attitude. " "And I trust you will never have occasion to weep again, my poor soul," replied Wood, setting down his lantern, and brushing a few drops from his eyes, "unless it be tears of joy. An ancient smile lay on his lips. But was it Faith? That is what she was this day going to find out.
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