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. ‘Go on up to the boy, my dear. ’ ‘The tables, they are turned, I think,’ she returned. ” Anna handed her a bracelet she had made out of string and macaroni. "Ah! but," said I, "there's a great deal in being hanged.
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