It was as though he heard some Power saying to him: "I marked you out for my own in the beginning and you can't escape me.

You may struggle as you like.

Until you surrender everything shall turn to dust in your hands." He came back to England determined to assert his independence.
He gazed now at the placidity of Garrick Street with the intensity of some challenging "Stand and Deliver!" All that the street had to give for the moment was a bishop and an actor mounting the steps of the Garrick Club, an old lady with a black bonnet and a milk-jug, a young man in a hurry and a failure selling bootlaces.

None of them could be expected to offer reassurance to Martin--none of these noticed him--but an intelligent observer, had such a stranger to Garrick Street been present, might have found that gaze of interest.

Martin's physical solidity could not entirely veil the worried uncertain glance that flashed for a moment and then, with a little reassuring sigh, was gone.
The door opened, a girl looked for a moment into the street, he passed inside.