She was listed for the raid—she was informed it was to be a raid upon the House of Commons, though no particulars were given her—and told to go alone to 14, Dexter Street, Westminster, and not to ask any policeman to direct her. His shoulders were bent, his face was furrowed with wrinkles. If he adhered to this policy—to keep away from her inconspicuously—she would forget the name by night, and to-morrow even the bearer of it would sink below the level of recollection. She pointed suddenly at the portrait. ’ ‘All the way to England?’ She opened wide eyes.
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