“I suppose there’s no way of getting a decent income—independently. "Nobody shall," cried Mr. I won’t even ask. ‘It is you who is the fool,’ she threw at him, whipping round again. She was trying to adjust the wimple, dragging at it and fighting with her loosened hair. Glancing idly up at her own window as they had swung round the corner she had seen a strange thing. The kiss was powerfully moving. “Yes?” “You remember once, how we talked—at a gate on the Downs? We talked about how a girl might get an independent living.
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