In the adjacent apartment Ann Veronica found a middle-aged woman with a tired face under the tired hat she wore, sitting at a desk opening letters while a dusky, untidy girl of eight-or nine-and-twenty hammered industriously at a typewriter. If the boy was legging it alone…. Perhaps she had found this new thing in life, the thing wonderful. It wouldn’t be you. “Go down and rescue the rags of my reputation,” she said, smiling. She felt herself shaking again.
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