The houses on Snow Hill were thronged, like those in Old Bailey. For a while they stood there, silent, motionless, staring at the doorway where still a few strings of the bamboo curtain swayed and twisted, agitated by the Wastrel's passage. She had but to choose. “You met no one upon the stairs, or saw no one leave the flats?” “No one,” Anna answered firmly. The manager, however, who stood in the wings, nodded to her to proceed, and the orchestra commenced the first few bars of the music. All we have to apprehend is a rescue. And now you must go back, take up your work and think all this over.
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