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She was greatly exercised by the problem of confiding in the Widgetts; they were dears, and she talked away two evenings with Constance without broaching the topic; she made some vague intimations in letters to Miss Miniver that Miss Miniver failed to mark. But she had not reckoned with the etiquette of Canongate. ’ ‘As a matter of fact, it isn’t,’ conceded Gerald. I don’t believe in the faults. Hastening to the church, he entered it by the very door near which his first crime had been committed. When he comes he will do that raid of the pantechnicons the justice it deserves; he will picture the orderly evening scene about the Imperial Legislature in convincing detail, the coming and going of cabs and motor-cabs and broughams through the chill, damp evening into New Palace Yard, the reinforced but untroubled and unsuspecting police about the entries of those great buildings whose square and panelled Victorian Gothic streams up from the glare of the lamps into the murkiness of the night; Big Ben shining overhead, an unassailable beacon, and the incidental traffic of Westminster, cabs, carts, and glowing omnibuses going to and from the bridge. Mother and Son XI. Ruth was not a woman; she was a phenomenon. A faint, delightfully humorous smile parted her lips. An old man with a bent back who limped in, slow and stiff, leaning heavily on a cane.
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