It’s the rarest luck, the wildest, most impossible accident. "What I said about natural children doesn't apply to you. Sheppard, who had again looked round towards her son, beheld a hand glance along the side of the woollendraper. It is useless to trace out her miserable career; though I can easily do so if you require it. 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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