“Everybody is taking it up,” said Miss Miniver. 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. "Your answer!" cried Sheppard. Never! Perhaps some day, quite soon, she might regret that breakfast-room. “It’s just that he doesn’t seem like your type.
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