Brendon suggests supper at the Carlton. She descended the stairs, and found herself at last in the street—alone. She put her clothes back on, 118 lipstick smeared all over her face. “You will have some tea?” she asked. To the practised eye of the waterman matters wore a very different air. It was high afternoon, there was no great throng of footpassengers, and many an eye from omnibus and pavement rested gratefully on her fresh, trim presence as she passed young and erect, with the light of determination shining through the quiet self-possession of her face.
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