"Where am I to take it to?" asked Sheppard. He would go there. “Here we are,” he said, “shining through each other like light through a stained-glass window. I see. CHAPTER XI. 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.
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