She watched them sleep for what seemed hours from the high window until her body grew colder than the stone sill she perched upon. When he comes he will do that raid of the pantechnicons the justice it deserves; he will picture the orderly evening scene about the Imperial Legislature in convincing detail, the coming and going of cabs and motor-cabs and broughams through the chill, damp evening into New Palace Yard, the reinforced but untroubled and unsuspecting police about the entries of those great buildings whose square and panelled Victorian Gothic streams up from the glare of the lamps into the murkiness of the night; Big Ben shining overhead, an unassailable beacon, and the incidental traffic of Westminster, cabs, carts, and glowing omnibuses going to and from the bridge. ‘But you,’ she said in the friendliest way imaginable, ‘are a person tout à fait sympathique, I think. ‘You will take the place of André?’ ‘Exactly so. “Look here, daddy,” she said, in a tone of great reasonableness, “I MUST go to that dance, you know. It was very much like a real house, with one central stalagmite that looked like a column and a waterfall that served when she wanted to bathe.
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