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Her momentary instinct was to run to him and be comforted, like the old times. The policemen were closing in from the sides to intervene. “I think that you were inquiring for Mr. Paintings sold off the walls. She drifted northward from the Strand, and came on some queer and dingy quarters. Loneliness—something that was almost physical: as if the vitality had been taken out of the air she breathed. Presently she was going through a swaying, noisy crowd, whose faces grinned and stared pitilessly in the light of the electric standards.
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