As time went on, she began to think Martha had been mistaken. Get me an interview with her. Outside stood a stocky, combat boot-clad girl of seventeen with a teased mass of spiky bottle-black hair. Almost at once she had comprehended that she was expected to write down her name and address, which she did, in slanting cobwebby lettering, perhaps a trifle laboriously. The ladies can't sleep in their beds for him; and as to the men, they daren't go to bed at all.
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