’ He threw one arm across his own chest and clapped himself on the shoulder. 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. He touched a long-standing sore, and Ann Veronica found herself vainly trying to explain—the inexplicable.
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