But she was disappointed. What she admired in her man was his resolute defense of his opinions. He had just arrived from Manchester, whence he had been summoned by that treacherous thief-taker. 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. His breath grew shallower as he approached the room, conscious of the loudness of his hallway-reverberated footfalls. “I’m sorry Mister McCloskey! I was out seeing my boyfriend!” He stared at her concernedly.
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