“Number 13, please, cabman. Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. “I must read him when I come out. ” “So far,” she continued, eyeing hungrily the last morsel of roll which lay upon her plate, “my only chance of occupation has lain with a photographer who engaged me on the spot and insulted me in half an hour. ’ ‘Don’t be a fool, woman,’ snapped Charvill, thrusting himself further into the room.
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