The spinsters—who on the morrow would vanish out of the girl's life for ever—had already left their imprint upon her imagination. She drifted, via Theobald’s Road, obliquely toward the region about Titchfield Street. ’ ‘Parbleu, it is I who am the idiot?’ she scolded furiously, removing one hand and digging it into her sleeve. She followed Oxford Street into Holborn, and then she inquired for Chancery Lane. As she went on, the story began to sound more and more like a recitation. ’ ‘Can you prove it?’ demanded Hilary.
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