She stared at him. As she neared the bottom of the dip in Piccadilly she saw a woman approaching her from the opposite direction—a tall woman who at the first glance seemed altogether beautiful and fine. She felt draggled and insulted beyond redemption. Only he hated the words he uttered, hated the blunt honesty which forced them from his lips. But that's an infirmity shared by a great many sounder heads than mine. Left alone, Jonathan lighted a lamp, and, opening the trap-door, descended the secret stairs. One learns to sit up.
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