He said simply that he wanted her to live at home. ‘Give me my pistol!’ Gerald shook his head, slipping the pistol into his pocket. Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly. “Splendid you are looking to-day, Miss Stanley,” he said. She was glad to join in the stream of hurrying homeward workers that was now welling out of a thousand places of employment, and to imitate their driven, preoccupied haste.
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