For a time she worried about that compulsory bath and cutaneous diseases. Earles drew out his cheque book. What our dear mother would say back home I dread to think. ‘Would it so? What sort of a girl is she, then?’ ‘She’s a consummate devil,’ Gerald declared roundly. 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.
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