He walked quickly; turned up without hesitation into Southampton
Street, and again into King Street. There the speed of his steps
lessened and, walking past the premises of Bonsfield & Co., he kept
his eyes in the direction of the window at which he had first seen
Sally Bishop at work.
She was there, her fingers more lively now than when he had seen them
before, in their eternal dance upon the untiring keys. In the
lingering glance he took at her as he walked slowly by, there was
much that was curiosity, but a greater interest. Thoughts had swept
through his mind since the previous Saturday night. He saw her now
from a different point of view. He still found her
attractive-compellingly so. There was something exquisitely naive
about her, an innocence that was precious. In all the sordid side
of life that he had seen--that was his daily portion to see, for the
journalism of a free lance can be sordid indeed--he found her fresh.
That had been the swift impression which he had formed in the few
moments that he had seen her, spoken to her, on the top of the 'bus
from Piccadilly Circus. At this second sight of her, he was not
disillusioned. Even there, in the midst of offices, chained to the
machine at which she worked, she seemed cut out from her
surroundings--a personality apart.
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