Seven hundred forty-two dollars and eighty-one cents, the sum total of her money in the world that she hid in a filigreed cigar box shelved behind her schoolbooks. “I mean REALLY independent. He passed, and came loitering back and stood beside her, silently looking into her face. Groping their way through one or two dark and mouldy-smelling vaults, the party ascended a flight of steps, which brought them to the hall. This is my friend, Mr. You will go to London?” “It is necessary,” she answered.
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