A sophisticated woman would have translated the tone as a caress. " "God help me, what a muddle!" The cigar crumbled in Spurlock's hand. I don't believe he is much past forty. At last, she breathed. For a time she looked at no more apartments, and walked through gaunt and ill-cleaned streets, through the sordid under side of life, perplexed and troubled, ashamed of her previous obtuseness.
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