“Yes,” she answered, looking away. It was clear it must be to-morrow. Annabel had taken her life into her hands with gay insouciance, had made her own friends, gone her own way. " "To be sure you are," replied Jonathan, laughing. Sebastian dug through the viscous layers of foul-smelling clay with a shovel, each successive insertion creating an obscene sucking noise that ate at her sanity. The one profession, the one decent profession, I mean, for a woman—except the stage— is teaching, and there we trample on one another. " CHAPTER XVIII.
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