She had followed a bobbing white hat and gray jacket until she reached the Euston Road corner of Tottenham Court Road, and there, by the name on a bus and the cries of a conductor, she made a guess of her way. She could see that she was now the exclusive object of the boy’s attention. And Blueskin, who, for a moment, had looked round distrustfully, concluding it was a feint, now laughed louder than ever. “Ohmigod! You totally sounded like my grandmother just now!” Michelle exclaimed. And next morning she attired herself with especial care and neatness, found his address in the Directory at a post-office, and went to him. Some part of the stiff vigour of the man seemed to have subsided. However, it doesn't much signify. He is the kind of man who would much prefer a little dust in his eyes.
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