She would have just to keep the fifteen pounds until she could make it twenty. “The truth!” Annabel bent over her and whispered in her sister’s ear. “It was unpleasant while it lasted, but it is over —and my toasted scones are delicious. She had no place she loved. She tried to imagine herself “getting something,” to project herself as sitting down at a desk and writing, or as returning after her work to some pleasantly equipped and free and independent flat. I've my own reasons for disliking this job.
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