Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly. "I'm glad to find I'm right. ” She found it difficult to begin thinking, and indeed she was anything but clear what it was she had to think about. Where was this kindly world she had drawn so rosily in fancy? Disillusion everywhere. It towered up high above the level of the pass, thousands of feet, still, shining, and white, and below, thousands of feet below, was a floor of little woolly clouds.
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