Before he could return, Jack had made good his retreat; and, wandering about the lanes and hedges, kept out of sight as much as possible. She drifted northward from the Strand, and came on some queer and dingy quarters. Her mind turned to her own future, the endless trickle of years. Poor fellow! he sometimes indulges the hope of marrying you, when he grows old enough. “I won’t go home,” she said; “I won’t!” and she evaded the clutch of the fatherly policeman and tried to thrust herself past him in the direction of that big portal.
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