She took out a latch-key, put it in
the lock, opened the door, and passed in.
The sight of her face seemed to have given the artist an idea. Propping
his door open, he brought an easel and canvas, and setting them so that
he could see the corner where she had gone in, began to sketch.
An old stone fountain with three stone frogs stood in the garden near
that corner, and beyond it was a flowering currant-bush, and beyond
this again the green door on which a slanting gleam of sunlight fell. He
worked for an hour, then put his easel back and went out to get his tea.
Mrs. Bellew came out soon after he was gone. She closed the door behind
her, and stood still. Taking from her pocket the bulky envelope, she
slipped it into the letter-box; then bending down, picked up a twig, and
placed it in the slit, to prevent the lid falling with a rattle. Having
done this, she swept her hands down her face and breast as though to
brush something from her, and walked away. Beyond the outer gate she
turned to the left, and took the same street back to the river. She
walked slowly, luxuriously, looking about her. Once or twice she
stopped, and drew a deep breath, as though she could not have enough of
the air. She went as far as the Embankment, and stood leaning her elbows
on the parapet.
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