She had followed a bobbing white hat and gray jacket until she reached the Euston Road corner of Tottenham Court Road, and there, by the name on a bus and the cries of a conductor, she made a guess of her way. “It’s jolly of you to come,” said Ramage. “I said you were”—he shouted—“NOT TO GO!” She made, and overdid, an immense effort to be a princess. ‘Possibly,’ he said. As she drew off her skirt she felt something in the pocket, and remembered the letter which the commissionaire at the Carlton had given her.
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