The air might be cool, but half an hour without head-gear was an invitation to sunstroke. She fell into a pleasant dream of positions and work. . She went about in a negligent November London that had become very dark and foggy and greasy and forbidding indeed, and tried to find that modest but independent employment she had so rashly assumed. On the floor, underneath the sixth row desks, was an ashtray with a small black dot of blood on its blunt round corner. “And all the rest of it perhaps is a song.
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