What’s that?” They both stood listening. 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. The shouts, yells, and groans which they uttered, and which were echoed by the concourse in the rear, were perfectly frightful. You may command my services at any time.
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