" "Pshaw!" cried Thames. For a while they stood there, silent, motionless, staring at the doorway where still a few strings of the bamboo curtain swayed and twisted, agitated by the Wastrel's passage. Nothing but the publicity of the place and the recollection of that terrible constituency kept him from attempting some perfectly respectful but unmistakable evidence of his sympathy. Finally, at the exit into Regent’s Park, they ran against Miss Klegg. “I hope you are going to Carey House.
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