“Hainault, Celeste’s friend. It was high afternoon, there was no great throng of footpassengers, and many an eye from omnibus and pavement rested gratefully on her fresh, trim presence as she passed young and erect, with the light of determination shining through the quiet self-possession of her face. I have only just left Wych Street. Her eyes were fixed upon the ground, the pink colour coming and going in her cheeks was very delicate and girlish. In any event, I would not have let her escape me so easily. "By the powers!" he added, turning his lantern full upon the face of the captive, "he's a nice gennteel-lookin' kiddy, I must say.
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