On a bright evening when the house was as dark as a shut box and an
early star, frightened at its irregular and lonely appearance,
suddenly flashed like a curl of a golden whip across the sky, Maggie
slipped out of the house. She realised, with a triumphant and
determined nod of her head, that she had never been out alone in
London before--a ridiculous and shameful fact! She knew that there
was a pillar-box just round the corner, but because she had a hat
upon her head and shoes upon her feet she thought that she might as
well post it in the Strand, an EXCITING river of tempestuous sound
into which she had as yet scarcely penetrated. She slipped out of
the front door, then waited a moment, looking back at the silent
house. No one stirred in their street; the noise of the Strand came
up to her like wind beyond a valley. She must have felt, in that
instant, that she was making some plunge into hazardous waters and
she must have hesitated as to whether she would not spring back into
the quiet house, lock and bolt the door, and never go out again.
But, after that one glance, she went forward.
She had never before in her life been on any errand alone, and at
this evening hour the Strand was very full.
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