“Bother it all!” she swore. She mounted the stairs of the theatrical agent’s office with very much less than her usual buoyancy, nor did she find much encouragement in the general appearance of the room into which she was shown. She saw herself in very much Vivie’s position—managing something. You’ll be telling me Gerald did not catch you snooping at the Bicknacres, I suppose. Indignation carried her through that night, that men and the world could so entreat her. This gloom was impossible.
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