C. Michelle looked her up and down, liking the results of her efforts. Accordingly, when she arrived at the Shovels, with which, as an old haunt in her bygone days of wretchedness she was well acquainted, instead of entering the principal apartment, which she saw at a glance was crowded with company of both sexes, she turned into a small room on the left of the bar, and, as an excuse for so doing, called for something to drink. Today you shall promise me that you will pull no more of these stunts. She addressed Anna with a beaming smile and a very creditable mixture of condescension and officiousness. All my plans have succeeded. “I’d rather go as a chorus-girl,” she said. Except he was the only idiot who would stay.
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