Brown. Women and men had always flocked to him, covetous of his knowledge, his riches, and if all else failed, his carnal expertise. Part of her felt like laughing insanely at how badly she had been duped. He answered with the greatest assurance, that he knew nothing whatever of the matter—had seen no pocket-book, and no associate to give up. Someone bounded up the stairs, which groaned from the strain, unmistakably Mike. Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly. The room was worse than pokey, it was shabby; and the view from the window, of chimney pots and slate roofs, wholly uninspiring.
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