Cheveney strolled up, a pipe in his mouth. Two of these had been her particular intimates at the High School, and had done much to send her mind exploring beyond the limits of the available literature at home. “She has been to my flat before. The farmer was a widow who was slightly famous around town for his prize cows and slightly more famous for his good looks. “But you yourself,” she exclaimed, glancing into his face, “you too look tired. “I am sure that you are. Ramage, that iron-gray man of the world, appeared dressed in a bowler hat and a suit of hard gray, astride of a black horse. They sell only their talents, not their bodies; they are not girls of the street.
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