“I suppose a girl MUST be underpaid and sweated,” said Ann Veronica. Brown or Jones, I dare say. He went on munching his water-chestnuts, and stared at the skyline. And, with a glance of malignant exultation, he quitted the vault, and locked the door. Rather! Who could help it?” He towered up over her and smiled down at her in his fatherly way.
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