It was in the quiet streets and squares toward Oxford Street that it first came into her head disagreeably that she herself was being followed. ” She sniffled. "Take courage, man; it is only Quilt Arnold. ‘—without telling her why,’ he finished, ignoring the interjection. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. " "Mr. ” “Heavens!” the lady exclaimed. Oh, I know. I wish nothing at all from them. Still it was possible, and the difficulty was only a fresh incitement. I'm crazy over music, too. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure.
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