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. "Shall I take the babby home with me!" persisted Wood, in a tone between jest and earnest. " "As for that, I don't say. He looked across at Annabel, and he groaned. 2. Who is she, I say?” “My sister!” Annabel faltered.
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