The houses they flitted to and from were glutted with hangers-on, servant/mistresses, and errant prostitutes. As they passed beneath the thick trees that shade the road to Dollis Hill, the gloom was almost impenetrable. “MY DEAR MISS STANLEY,” it began,—“I hope you will forgive my bothering you with a letter, but I have been thinking very much over our conversation at Lady Palsworthy’s, and I feel there are things I want to say to you so much that I cannot wait until we meet again.
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