He saw her eyes pass him and settle on a fleetingly pretty strawberry blond girl and her effeminate father. “I wish you didn’t. Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly. “You will always have to run from normal people and normal life, John. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. She’d have thrown this thing if you hadn’t stopped her. ’ ‘Pah! You can never be Valade. Men and women are not established things; they’re experiments, all of them.
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