Presently she stole down, out into the air. She felt as though she had
passed through a bad illness, and had no desire now but to get home as
quickly as she could. The people she met seemed to know where she had
been, what she had been doing; and suddenly--over on the opposite side,
going towards his rooms from the direction of Montpellier Square--she
saw Bosinney himself.
She made a movement to cross into the traffic. Their eyes met, and he
raised his hat. An omnibus passed, obscuring her view; then, from the
edge of the pavement, through a gap in the traffic, she saw him walking
on.
And June stood motionless, looking after him.
CHAPTER XIII--PERFECTION OF THE HOUSE
'One mockturtle, clear; one oxtail; two glasses of port.'
In the upper room at French's, where a Forsyte could still get heavy
English food, James and his son were sitting down to lunch.
Of all eating-places James liked best to come here; there was something
unpretentious, well-flavoured, and filling about it, and though he
had been to a certain extent corrupted by the necessity for being
fashionable, and the trend of habits keeping pace with an income that
would increase, he still hankered in quiet City moments after the tasty
fleshpots of his earlier days.
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