CHAPTER XXXII. And then, for the first time, Wood noticed a small stream of blood coursing slowly down her cheek. "Are you hurt, Thames?" asked Jack, anxiously. A corner could hold the promise of a shelf of dainty crystals, volcanic ices of rainbow colors, or figurines of saints sculpted from horn and bone reenacting their martyrdoms on delicate miniature wooden stages. Silly woman!. Aunt Jane had her quiet moments. It was in the quiet streets and squares toward Oxford Street that it first came into her head disagreeably that she herself was being followed.
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