CHAPTER VII. ” “My God!” said Manning, in a stage-aside. It was as if her finite human brain could only store a limit of information, details like hair color and fingernail shape easily jettisoned to make room for the nuances of a grin or the emotion of a shoulder blade. For a time she looked at no more apartments, and walked through gaunt and ill-cleaned streets, through the sordid under side of life, perplexed and troubled, ashamed of her previous obtuseness. "Speak out—don't be alarmed," said Wood, in a kind and encouraging tone. Take, if you please, your own pistol. ’ Then Hilary became serious again. Run along while I rig up and get the part in my hair straight. Ann Veronica was lying on her bed in a darkling room staring at the ceiling. “Annabel!” she exclaimed.
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