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. I’d rather starve!” For a moment the conversation hung upon that declaration. She made a few protests, a few excuses for her action in accepting him, a few lame explanations, but he did not heed them or care for them. Here's the——" "Let me have one," cried a servant maid, running across the street, and in her haste forgetting to shut the door,—"here's the money. ” He smiled at the naiveté of her suggestion. Bird and have come hither. It is no problem.
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