"What motive have you for concealment?" he demanded. She decided to go out into the London afternoon again and get something to eat in an Aerated Bread shop or some such place, and perhaps find a cheap room for herself. She could smell him almost as strongly as she could the new paint on the fire escape walls, along with the wool suit and the weird polyester smell of his wet umbrella. Could you come to tea at my rooms one afternoon, or would you dine with me somewhere, and do a theatre? We could have a private room, of course, if you do not wish to be seen about London, and a box at the theatre. He believes that he is leaving this conscience behind; and I want to watch his disillusion on this particular point. You are an artist by the Divine right of birth, but whatever form of expression may come to you at some time it will not be painting. It is foolish, she murmured to herself, foolish. Bête, she told herself fiercely. “No, she just worries that I’ll go Satanic and start chomping the heads off of bats and mice or something. She longed to own something lasting, anything, but knew her wishes to be stupid. I have suffered—I have sinned—I have repented. He, next, discovered that Blueskin was gone; and, pursuing his scrutiny, found that he had carried off all the banknotes, gold, and letters,—including, what Jonathan himself was not aware of,—the two packets which he had abstracted from the person of Thames.
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