She came by train as far as Whitechapel Station and had only walked from there.
She had had an ugly pilgrimage; but whether of love or of necessity who could tell?
And that precisely was what I should have liked to get at.
This was not however a question to be asked point-blank, and I could not think of any effective circumlocution.

It occurred to me too that she might conceivably know nothing of it herself--I mean by reflection.

That young woman had been obviously considering death.

She had gone the length of forming some conception of it.

But as to its companion fatality--love, she, I was certain, had never reflected upon its meaning.
With that man in the hotel, whom I did not know, and this girl standing before me in the street I felt that it was an exceptional case.