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CHAPTER X
The congestion of the traffic, the knotted lines of carriages
conveying to their houses the thousands of people whom the theatres
had disgorged into the streets, enabled Sally to keep Mrs.
Durlacher's car in sight until it passed through the wide portals
of a restaurant in the Strand where, from the street, she could see
them dismount and pass into the building. They had gone to supper.
Traill had told her nothing about that. Then it had only been decided
since he had met them; he must be enjoying himself in the society
of these very people whose society he professed to abhor. That they
might have pressed him to accompany them so that he found it
impossible to refuse, did not enter the argument in her mind. All
thoughts tended in one direction--instinct guiding them--instinct,
drunk with the noxious ferment of jealousy, whipping her mind down
paths where no reason could follow, yet bringing her invariably to
the truth with that same generosity of Providence which watches over
the besotted wanderings of a drunken man.
For some moments she stood there, watching the doors which a powdered
flunkey had swung to after their entrance.
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