It was in the quiet streets and squares toward Oxford Street that it first came into her head disagreeably that she herself was being followed. Then light footsteps became audible, descending the staircase with a certain deliberation and a faint rustle of skirts. Then to the Feathers, in Drury Lane. He smiled. Her mind turned to her own future, the endless trickle of years. Borne along by the current, Darrell was instantly at the boat's side. I'm burning to get to work.
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