“But you do not know,” she whispered, “whether I am a married woman or not. “I wonder if they will seem altered,” she remarked for the third time. “Yes?” “You remember once, how we talked—at a gate on the Downs? We talked about how a girl might get an independent living. The truth was impossible, indecent. ’ ‘From a convent? Even if I wished to do it, I could not. Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly.
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