"You hesitate—you are deceiving me. 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. I dared not sing, I dared not laugh, except when you went away. “I see no reason why you shouldn’t. Madame Valade was that kind of woman. It might be three yards in width, and a few more in length; but it was covered with ooze and slime, and the waves continually broke over it.
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