" At the sound of his voice every vestige of colour fled from Winifred's cheeks, and the work upon which she was engaged fell from her hand. The vault, in which Sir Rowland found himself, resembled in some measure the cabin of a ship. “Bother it all!” she swore. She drifted, via Theobald’s Road, obliquely toward the region about Titchfield Street. ‘You are rude, and stupide, and altogether a person with whom I do not wish to speak.
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