“Dinner is served, m’m,” said the efficient parlor-maid in the archway, and the worst was over. 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. But I'll not believe it of you. I worshipped her and subdued myself. They set about everyone—everyone. This was automatically rather than thoughtfully done; habit. “It’s all dirt that washes off, dear, but it’s dirt. ’ ‘Alas.
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