A thickly-set, sandy young man, with an unwholesome complexion and grease-smooth hair, had entered the room. “Called myself Anna,” the girl repeated coolly. “This is the slavery of the veiled life. Strange, demure-looking young woman, with wonderful complexion and eyes, and a style about her, too. The lamp was spreading soot over everything and the reek of kerosene was stronger than usual.
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