And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. ’ He sighed. 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. His head was small and bullet-shaped, and he did not wear a wig, but had his sleek black hair cut off closely round his temples. She was no longer a confederate in that. Her long incarceration at the convent in Blaye had taught her to be dismissive of her own appearance.
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