Michelle was in sight, Lucy could hear her voice, high in the crowd, and saw her blond head bobbing among a sea of faces. ‘After all the threats you’ve made, that is hardly fair. The shops were lighting up into gigantic lanterns of color, the street lamps were glowing into existence, and she had lost her way. They went on talking in the train—it seemed to her father a slight want of deference to him—and he listened and pretended to read the Times. The London backgrounds, in Bloomsbury and Marylebone, against which these people went to and fro, took on, by reason of their gray facades, their implacably respectable windows and window-blinds, their reiterated unmeaning iron railings, a stronger and stronger suggestion of the flavor of her father at his most obdurate phase, and of all that she felt herself fighting against. She broke a cobblestone over his head and he was out. It is not a dissipated face. Everything was done in a genteel and ordinary way, but on the other hand, there was no lingering. I applaud your prudence: it is, however, needless. ‘When we met probably, and you threatened me at the first. “I will not rob you of your coffee, most dutiful of sisters!” she exclaimed.
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