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By George, I forgot! McClintock said there was a typewriter in the office and that I could have it. Ruth did not reply, but stared past the doctor, her eyes misty. He did like her, anyhow; he was always pleased to be with her. 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. Wood fared still worse. A sound sleeper, she was not roused by the creaky openings and closings of drawers as Lucy packed a single duffle bag with underwear and soap that was pilfered from a multipack of Zest in the Beck’s downstairs bathroom. ” Anna shrugged her shoulders lightly.
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