’ Martha looked up, belligerence in her tone. “Good evening, Dorling,” he said. For a time she looked at no more apartments, and walked through gaunt and ill-cleaned streets, through the sordid under side of life, perplexed and troubled, ashamed of her previous obtuseness. Dieu du ciel, what was it? She turned slowly, listening for the direction of the sound. I suppose it depends on her own state of mind.
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