’ The lodgekeeper’s jaw fell open. Thankfully, he seemed pleased the moment he saw her face, which her mother had made her wash for weeks with the pulp of apples, orange water, and 21 extract of borage among other things. The concourse extended along Giltspur Street as far as Smithfield. There is the key. “Aunt!” she said, “I can’t—” Then she caught a wild appeal in her aunt’s blue eye, halted, and the door clicked upon them. The clerk at the Raffles Hotel had accorded her but scant interest. They even talked about friendship.
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