. She felt that she was not alone. A bad one in a rough-and-tumble; all the water-front tricks. ” She gazed at him. “We are, or rather we were, so much alike then that the portrait of either of us would have done for the other. Its heroes never had daughters, they borrowed other people’s. To be near someone, even someone who made a pretense of friendliness, to hear voices, her own intermingling, would serve as a rehabilitating tonic.
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