“I don’t care,” said Ann Veronica. "I don't know what I think," Wood answered sulkily; and he bent his eyes upon the water, as if he wished to avert his attention forcibly from the scene. So far the thing was acceptable enough. They had refused. "She was mine before you ever saw her. Outside stood a stocky, combat boot-clad girl of seventeen with a teased mass of spiky bottle-black hair. Gin is the poor man's friend,—his sole set-off against the rich man's luxury.
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