Wood fancied he recognised. ‘He destroyed the papers?’ ‘That’s right,’ Roding said, throwing her a glance of frowning surprise, as if he had not rated her intelligence so high. “What can I do?” “Go and see her. "What do you mean by that, sirrah?" cried Wood, reddening with anger. "The key's on the outside— quick! quick!" Instantly alive to this chance, Blueskin broke away. The London backgrounds, in Bloomsbury and Marylebone, against which these people went to and fro, took on, by reason of their gray facades, their implacably respectable windows and window-blinds, their reiterated unmeaning iron railings, a stronger and stronger suggestion of the flavor of her father at his most obdurate phase, and of all that she felt herself fighting against.
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