She was tired, hungry—and thus somewhat impatient for the food Mrs Ibstock might bring—and downcast. "But never mind who, or what I am. They struck her as cold and indifferent. ” She assented, smiling. Chapter VI A QUESTION OF IDENTIFICATION The little man with the closely-cropped beard and hair looked at her keenly through his gold eye-glasses. I ought never to have thought of it. Outside in the hall he paused and thoughtfully stroked his smooth blue chin. Then to the Golden Ball, in the same street. That window there….
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