At the back of her mind there seemed always one irrelevant qualifying spectator whose presence she sought to disregard. Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly. But the factor of overriding interest is that they have all met and approved the said imposters. ‘No! Let me alone!’ ‘It is not safe!’ ‘That is entirely my affair, and not your affair in the least,’ she told him haughtily. Here was an instrument which might be of the greatest service to him in accomplishing his design. Books! Aren't they wonderful?" The blind alley of life stretching out before her, with its secret doorways and hidden menaces; and she was unconcerned.
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