The very carts and vans and cabs that Wellington Street poured out incessantly upon the bridge seemed ripe and good in her eyes. When they were going home she asked her mother why she and Gwen and Alice had cried. The door was opened for her by a weary-looking youth in a striped jacket several sizes too large for him. "You two … both of you! But for you I couldn't have done it. He never felt any need to explain himself.
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