“I’ve gotta go. And the woollen-draper departed. Mrs Sindlesham occupied a large padded armchair to one side of a corner fireplace, which gave out a heat more than adequate for September to one of the major’s robust constitution. “I’m going for a long tramp, auntie,” she said. “Home, of course,” she answered. His face, as he looked down where his hand sought for a weapon concealed in her petticoat, was so close that she could see only the line of his firm jaw, the drag of his powdered hair that drew it into the military pigtail, and the black ribbon that adorned it. Some indeed carried themselves, dressed themselves even, rather as foreign visitors from the land of “Looking Backward” and “News from Nowhere” than as the indigenous Londoners they were.
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