“PRICE of flat?” “Twenty-five a month.” “Take twenty?” “No.” “Twenty-two?” “No.” “Quiet house? No children? No musical instruments? No mice? My folks is partic’lar, awful partic’lar–awful clean! … They’s out huntin’ too-maybe they’s found somethin’ at twenty. Consider twenty-three?” “No. Twenty-five is my price, take it or leave it.”…
Arabella Jones ran out of the back door, around the house and into the front door of her flat. Over and over she did it. Each time she rang her own door bell and opened her own front door and walked in with a laugh as if such a…
Tall–looseknit–dark-skinned–big brown eyes that could cry grandly without making her face ugly–sad eyes that it took nothing at all to fire and make sparkle. That funny joker, life, had mated her to a scrunched-up whipper-snapper of a man, with feet that took girls’ boots and with narrow, white hands.
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