Distress like hers might palliate far greater offences than she ever committed. All emotions laid hold of him, but none could he stay long enough to analyze it. There's the paragraph. The concourse extended along Giltspur Street as far as Smithfield. She was aware of him—a silk-hatted, shiny-black figure on the opposite side of the Avenue; and then, abruptly and startlingly, he crossed the road and saluted and spoke to her. She isn't used to cities. But indeed that is not at all a good description of her attitude. Burn your palette and your easel.
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