His job as a painter was wearing him down acutely as he aged. “I suppose most people’s letters are queer. Madame Valade was that kind of woman. “I never saw Courtlaw with her—never heard her speak of him. The young man opposite was straining his ears to listen to their conversation. For most of a long and fluctuating night she was fairly confident that she would find work; she knew herself to be strong, intelligent, and capable by the standards of most of the girls she knew. “My friends,” she said, “my dear friends, I am going to make the same answer to all of you—and that is perhaps you will say no answer at all.
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