She went up-stairs and hesitated between four doors with ground-glass panes, each of which professed “The Women’s Bond of Freedom” in neat black letters. Enough to let her find out a piece of information most urgent. “Who took care of you after she died?” “My father. A scene now ensued, highly characteristic of the age, and the occasion. “Young lady! Are you sure you’re of legal age to be smoking those cigarettes?” “No, I’m not of legal age. ” “The man?” 228 “Yes. hopelessly, and it made me desperate.
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