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The few pence left in her purse would only provide a very scanty lunch. Above her head was an aura of white fire. Fly! they shall knock me on the head—curse 'em!—before they shall touch you. ‘But, Gérard—’ ‘Don’t start arguing,’ he said in a tone that brooked no defiance. It takes too many years to climb even a step in the social ladder. She realized dimly that there was no personal thing behind his cry, that countless myriads of Mannings had “My God!”-ed with an equal gusto at situations as flatly apprehended. "Where is it?" "Are you the mother of this child?" inquired the person who had first spoken, addressing Mrs. “A sex of blacklegging clients.
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