She lunched at a creamery in Great Portland Street, and as the day was full of wintry sunshine, spent the rest of the lunch-hour in a drowsy gloom, which she imagined to be thought upon the problems of her position, on a seat in Regent’s Park. “You remember the man in Paris who used to follow me about—Meysey Hill they called him?” He nodded. Was it a week ago? No, perhaps more. "Within the last few minutes, all my guilty life has passed before me. “Were you thinking of private apartments, a boarding-house or an hotel?” she asked.
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