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"I have killed you," cried Jack, endeavouring to staunch the effusion of blood from her breast. At last I tried a dramatic agent, and got on the music hall stage. "Not a single whooper-upter! Nothing but torment and remorse … and Ruth! Children, put your arms around me. We have only those phantoms called memories, which are the husks of dreams. It was a cheerful, irresponsible, shamelessly hard-up family in the key of faded green and flattened purple, and the girls went on from the High School to the Fadden Art School and a bright, eventful life of art student dances, Socialist meetings, theatre galleries, talking about work, and even, at intervals, work; and ever and again they drew Ann Veronica from her sound persistent industry into the circle of these experiences.
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