His gaze drawn, Gerald watched him dip to pick up a crushed square of white linen and a starched object that resembled a helmet. Its dreariness, like the filthiness of the police cell, was a discovery for her. ’ He glanced at the portrait behind her. "Do you know this picture?" he added, with another significant look, and pointing to the miniature. She looked down tassels of his shiny shoes with a scowl. She drifted, via Theobald’s Road, obliquely toward the region about Titchfield Street.
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