“You be off, missie,” said the fatherly policeman. It was a clear, lovely, October morning. There was the world besides, looming darker and larger. The last piece was Scheherazade. Only one penny—two copies—two pence—thank you, Sir. “I am developing ailments,” she said, meeting his questioning eyes. “This isn’t a world for an innocent girl to walk about in. ” “What?” “That’s the devil of it!” “Devil of what?.
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