I suppose most of our daughters would marry organ-grinders if they had a chance—at that age. They looked out over the city, grim and silent now, for it was long past midnight. Her disapproval was obvious enough. “How could I, when your sister sings now at the ‘Unusual’ every night and the name ‘Alcide’ flaunts from every placard in London?” “The likeness between us,” she said, “before I began to disfigure myself with rouge and ill-dressed hair, was remarkable. She held it away from her with an instinctive repulsion, born of her unconquerable antipathy to the touch of strangers. It might prove rewarding.
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