The London backgrounds, in Bloomsbury and Marylebone, against which these people went to and fro, took on, by reason of their gray facades, their implacably respectable windows and window-blinds, their reiterated unmeaning iron railings, a stronger and stronger suggestion of the flavor of her father at his most obdurate phase, and of all that she felt herself fighting against. The air was thick with feelings. He's as savage and suspicious as the devil himself. It’s Italian. “Heavens, look at the time!” she exclaimed. That’s really what I want to discuss.
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