You’re dogmatic. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. “It is possible,” Courtlaw said, “that you too were deceived. Something draws everybody. ‘Besides, I don’t want the men blundering in here and frightening off our spy. How does one get work? She walked along the Strand and across Trafalgar Square, and by the Haymarket to Piccadilly, and so through dignified squares and palatial alleys to Oxford Street; and her mind was divided between a speculative treatment of employment on the one hand, and breezes—zephyr breezes—of the keenest appreciation for London, on the other.
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