They were going up the slope into Waterloo Station. I am absolutely certain that up to the present we have escaped all notice, and I do not believe that any casual observer would take us for English people. 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. No one will ever love you as I love you now. I didn’t realize—I don’t see how I can get out of it now. She came to befriend the female mistresses, some who were even so audacious as to bring their children into the house. Jonathan Wild's House in the Old Bailey.
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