She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet. His gaze drawn, Gerald watched him dip to pick up a crushed square of white linen and a starched object that resembled a helmet. After all, it came to him suddenly as a harsh discovery that she might be in a sense regarded as grownup. I want him immediately, so you can send Frith with my phaeton if you like. She lunched at a creamery in Great Portland Street, and as the day was full of wintry sunshine, spent the rest of the lunch-hour in a drowsy gloom, which she imagined to be thought upon the problems of her position, on a seat in Regent’s Park. “I’m six hundred and forty-eight, John, but guess how old I look? Fifteen.
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