"Come, then," said Wild, marching towards the door, "we've no time to lose. She was to have fifteen pounds, and no more. Painting is only one slender branch of the great tree. "What was it?" He was insistent. They simply understood there was a greater need to get over the past than to talk about it. "That's usual. She spent the morning up to ten in writing a series of unsuccessful letters to Ramage, which she tore up unfinished; and finally she desisted and put on her jacket and went out into the lamp-lit obscurity and slimy streets.
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