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. Her voice shook, her eyes were very soft and melting. I picked up her handkerchief on the floor. ” Ramage looked at her, and then fell into deep reflection as the waiter came to paragraph their talk again.
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