Surely she could ignore him. “You are Sir John Ferringhall,” she repeated. “Let me see,” she said to herself, trying to control a slight sinking of the heart, “I am going to take a room in a lodging-house because that is cheaper. To his great joy he found a small garret-door in the roof of the opposite house open. " "At least state your charge. ” “I am staying,” she answered coolly, “at a small boarding-house near Russell Square. When my father died, and we were left alone in Jersey, I was quite a long time deciding whether I would go in for singing professionally or try painting. Somehow her walk home with him had been transmogrified into a melodramatic rejection, a slamming.
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