She could run away from him, if she wished, as she had run away from her father; she could carry out the original adventure. If ever she felt fatigue in these long tramps which had already taken her half over London, she never admitted it. She stumbled through a thorny copse, her slippers sliding on patches of sand that gave way to rock. It was the same smell that she had in his memory, but now it was definite, palpable, like a perfume. That's the job. ‘If it is that your men there are going to arrest us, then why do they not do so?’ ‘Left to myself, I’d let them,’ he replied grimly.
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