I am an independent sort of person,” she continued, “and I am engaged in an attempt to earn my own living. "A hundred dollars which was left from your husband's money. ‘Do you think I would do to him as he made a threat to do to me? No. Wood made no reply; but, hastily kissing his weeping daughter, and bidding her be of good cheer, hurried off. Do you think it’s nothing to me to have my daughter running about London looking for odd jobs and disgracing herself?” “Sha’n’t get odd jobs,” said Ann Veronica, wiping her eyes. Perhaps once it had desired some other human being intolerably. “Why did you do it?” her aunt urged. But the besetting evil of the place, and that which drew down the severest censures of the writers above-mentioned, was that this spot,—which of all others should have been most free from such intrusion—was made a public exhibition.
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