He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. His cigar burnt out between his fingers, and he threw it impatiently away. ‘Lord,’ he uttered, glancing about with a disparaging eye. It grew clear to her that throughout all her wild raid for independence she had done nothing for anybody, and many people had done things for her. I loitered in the shop as you chatted with the butcher’s girl. Now there is none.
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