Here was no crooked soul; a little weak perhaps, impulsive beyond common, but fundamentally honest. Hetty, looking out of the window—she always smoked her after-breakfast cigarette at the window for the benefit of the less advanced section of Morningside Park society—and trying not to raise objections, saw Miss Stanley going down toward the shops. Lucy sighed. "I'm sorry, Mr. Kneebone and his Friends. . ” “Oh Jesus.
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