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“It seems to me it comes to earning one’s living in the long run,” said Ann Veronica, coloring faintly. " "Do not delay," cried Thames. “You, anyhow, don’t deserve it,” he said. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. He entered it; crossed the room, in which there was only a small truckle-bed, over which he stumbled; opened another door and gained the stair-head. ‘To begin with,’ he said, ‘allow me a very tiny intimacy. She did not have the power of men.
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