“My God!” he said again. How does one get work? She walked along the Strand and across Trafalgar Square, and by the Haymarket to Piccadilly, and so through dignified squares and palatial alleys to Oxford Street; and her mind was divided between a speculative treatment of employment on the one hand, and breezes—zephyr breezes—of the keenest appreciation for London, on the other. Given time and the right environment, and he would outgrow these defects. And meanwhile, we’ll just have these no doubt potentially lethal little claws of yours out of harm’s way. She leaves town to-morrow. Under the somewhat trying incandescent light her cheeks pleaded guilty to a recent use of the powder puff. He can't play cards, either, when he's sober.
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