’” “I have no choice,” Anna declared. And even she was forced to admit to herself that this last resource of hers was a slender reed on which to lean. It did not occur to her that they at least had found a way of earning a living, and had that much economic superiority to herself. Battle, murder, and sudden death—and an old chap like McClintock tuning his piano in the midst of it. Warm life was behind that always, even if it slept.
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