She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. She resolved not to allow him or her hunger detract from the performance at hand, as it would be a special one, an evening to be remembered in the gray days to follow like a precious jewel. It was in the quiet streets and squares toward Oxford Street that it first came into her head disagreeably that she herself was being followed.
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