She would come and sit cross-legged just beyond the bamboo curtain and silently watch him at work. He had meant to come at his business in a roundabout way, but for that little slip. “Is this hansom for me?” she said. The slack cloth of her habit caught on a curlicue in the carved back of the pew in front, pulling her suddenly about. I know London better than you, and I have had to earn my own living.
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