She heard the rats scattering across the stone as dirt fell into the crypt. The London backgrounds, in Bloomsbury and Marylebone, against which these people went to and fro, took on, by reason of their gray facades, their implacably respectable windows and window-blinds, their reiterated unmeaning iron railings, a stronger and stronger suggestion of the flavor of her father at his most obdurate phase, and of all that she felt herself fighting against. Anything else that was said she now regarded only as an aspect of or diversion from that. She pulled, he rose to his feet.
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