She pulled down her veil and made her way to the door. The van started with a jerk and rumbled on its way. “Why, I do not know. Such pretty manners, she thought. Kneebone's house, the young man hastened to a hotel in the neighbourhood of Covent Garden, where, having procured a horse, he shaped his course towards the west end of the town. When Sheila was in a good mood, one almost enjoyed her. Day after day—five, to be exact—she had returned to Morgan's; and each time the man would understand what had drawn her, and with a kindly smile would sit down at the piano and play. ” Lights went on inside the house on the upper level.
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