Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. ‘You see, it is that my papa, he is without sympathy,’ said the lady sadly. Ann Veronica sat back with a sigh of relief. Politely Ah Cum stooped and recovered the photograph. “And let us have a talk about this—some other time. “Who is the tenant of these rooms?” he inquired.
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