I don't know; I really don't know," she found herself repeating. As she drew off her skirt she felt something in the pocket, and remembered the letter which the commissionaire at the Carlton had given her. She could not risk going in the door, lest she run into Larry or Cathy drinking a nocturnal glass of milk or Mike raiding the refrigerator for snacks. ” She noted that as a good saying, and it germinated and spread tentacles of explanation through her brain. F. “This is the slavery of the veiled life.
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