The poet's appearance altogether was highly prepossessing. She lunched at a creamery in Great Portland Street, and as the day was full of wintry sunshine, spent the rest of the lunch-hour in a drowsy gloom, which she imagined to be thought upon the problems of her position, on a seat in Regent’s Park. “The father was in the army, and got a half-pay job at St. “As things are at present,” she said, “it is true. Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly. ‘You won’t get a thing out of her. I don't care how lonesome it is.
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