They sell only their talents, not their bodies; they are not girls of the street. Anna thrust hers into her pocket unopened, and for the first time left the house without a smile upon her face. ‘Imbecile. I’m the sort of dog, if you turn it out of the room it lies down on the mat at the door. The woollen-draper looked at his watch. I will not trust you. Out of all this we have struck a sort of harmony.
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