My father died a year ago, by the way. Already she had sent him twenty pounds, and never written to explain to him why it was she had not sent it back sharply directly he returned it. Such pretty manners, she thought. I want you to turn me. ” She marked an hotel that seemed neither opulent nor odd in a little side street opening on the Embankment, made up her mind with an effort, and, returning by Hungerford Bridge to Waterloo, took a cab to this chosen refuge with her two pieces of luggage.
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