‘Nothing. She looked at the white ankle socks on her feet and was reminded simultaneously of her pajama outfit and the suitcase that still lay underneath the bed. His salary was a few paltry hundreds a year. ’ ‘The nuns?’ she said, gazing at him innocently. “Good,” he said, as he watched the colour come back to her cheeks. It’s the poor dears who do, who know they will, know they can’t keep it up, who need to clutch at way-side flowers. ” “I wish you good luck,” she answered. Quite right.
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