Michelle had charitably taken to sitting with Lucy during Lunch Period, where she assumed a station at the outer edges of the Cafeteria, the crowd diffusing in concentric orbits, the middle tables reserved for only the most prestigious castes. At this time of day the priest would be at his apartments in Brewer Street, a short walk away from Golden Square which the building overlooked. The odd creak was not to be avoided in an old house such as this. ‘Well, nothing,’ uttered her betrothed crossly, before Gerald could answer. The Master listened, with becoming attention, to the narrative, and, at its conclusion, shook his head gravely, applied his thumb to the side of his nose, and, twirling his fingers significantly, winked at his phlegmatic companion.
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