“You are not boring me,” she said, “but I would rather talk of something else. Stories … love stories: and to-morrow she would know the joy of reading them! It was almost unbelievable; it was too good to be true. ‘It—it is—nothing,’ she uttered jerkily. ’ ‘Of what use to be ladylike when I cannot be a lady?’ ‘None of that. I offered myself as a clerk, as a milliner, as a shop girl.
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