. . She had eaten little or no tea, and her mid-day meal had been worse than nothing. “My dear,” she said, when she could get her breath, “you must come home at once. Manning, relinquishing his cup without answering her question, “when I hear you talk of earning a living, it’s as if I heard of an archangel going on the Stock Exchange—or Christ selling doves. "What is a sing-song girl?" she asked.
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