And Capes was thinking that his wife was a supremely beautiful woman. She loved Florence, wandering the huge markets which bustled day and night. It belonged to his father, and was worn by him on the night he was murdered. How does one get work? She walked along the Strand and across Trafalgar Square, and by the Haymarket to Piccadilly, and so through dignified squares and palatial alleys to Oxford Street; and her mind was divided between a speculative treatment of employment on the one hand, and breezes—zephyr breezes—of the keenest appreciation for London, on the other. She must speak to Jack.
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