For a time she looked at no more apartments, and walked through gaunt and ill-cleaned streets, through the sordid under side of life, perplexed and troubled, ashamed of her previous obtuseness. “He’s a Fellow of the Royal Society, and he can’t be much over thirty,” said Miss Klegg. No doubt he knew enough of his world to recognise that he stood little chance against the word of a major of militia. But there's a person in the hall—a very odd sort of man—waiting to see him, who won't be sent away.
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