Smith had never seen anything like it. She stood among them, watching them and feeling curiously alien to them. “Do you know,” she said, “that every one is remarking how ill you look. And don’t tell me what you’ve been up to, dashing off to Remenham House with that Kimble lad, and Lord knows what besides, because I don’t want to know. The very carts and vans and cabs that Wellington Street poured out incessantly upon the bridge seemed ripe and good in her eyes.
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