His wife met him at the door, and into her hands he delivered his little charge. Gerald’s thoughts raced as he reached out supporting hands and murmured meaningless phrases to soothe. “Last time I saw you,” he reminded her, “you spoke, did you not, of obtaining some employment in London. But the possible attitude of her father she had still to face. Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly.
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