She drifted, via Theobald’s Road, obliquely toward the region about Titchfield Street. She was aware of him—a silk-hatted, shiny-black figure on the opposite side of the Avenue; and then, abruptly and startlingly, he crossed the road and saluted and spoke to her. Then a servant girl brought in a telegram. "Your worry is needless. Do you indeed remember? The smell of decay and cheap methylated spirit!. ’ You used to declare that you hated the name. ‘Odds were against it. You know I call that positively wicked.
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