She had carried a chair into the room veranda and had watched and listened until the night silences had lengthened and only occasionally she heard a voice or the rattle of rickshaw wheels in the courtyard. And this great mellow place, this London, now was hers, to struggle with, to go where she pleased in, to overcome and live in. Lucy looked about confusedly. About her, as she had gone day by day to and from the Tredgold College, she had seen and not seen many an incidental aspect of those sides of life about which girls are expected to know nothing, aspects that were extraordinarily relevant to her own position and outlook on the world, and yet by convention ineffably remote. It was Blueskin. Covered with houses, from one end to the other, this reverend and picturesque structure presented the appearance of a street across the Thames. He felt her relaxation and let go of her wrists.
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