At first she thought that the woman was just a servant. She went to her room and changed the loose morning gown in which she had lunched for a dark walking dress. "Do not go near him, mother," cried Jack; "do not believe him. She drifted, via Theobald’s Road, obliquely toward the region about Titchfield Street. Shamefaced curiosities began to come back into her mind, thinly disguised as literature and art. She wanted to be on with the show. Nothing like the direct approach, she thought.
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