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“The life of a private secretary is positively one of slavery. In her ears there was a medley of sound: wailing music, rumbling tom-toms and sputtering firecrackers. He too was flushed and ruffled; one side of his collar had slipped from its stud and he held a hand to the corner of his jaw. “Where am I?” he muttered. "What does Mr. You’ll never see the light of day as long as you live. ’ Roding gave him a look of respect. . ” She laid her fingers upon his arm, and they both stood still. The first set of occupations seemed to her to be altogether too domestic and restricted; for the latter she was dreadfully handicapped by her want of experience.
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