Unconscious that his movements were watched, Shotbolt, meanwhile, hastened towards Wych Street. Wood now re-appeared with a very red face; and, followed by Winifred, took her seat at the table. The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping. “See you to-night, I suppose?” He sauntered off. She admired his backside as he fetched a blue towel from his bathroom.
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