He glanced at the ruins of his High Priestess. In the adjacent apartment Ann Veronica found a middle-aged woman with a tired face under the tired hat she wore, sitting at a desk opening letters while a dusky, untidy girl of eight-or nine-and-twenty hammered industriously at a typewriter. A victim of one of those mental typhoons that scatter irretrievably the barriers of instinct and breeding; and he had gone on the rocks all in a moment. He must preserve it, however, as they preserved the Ark of the Covenant. "You who are condemned to die, repent with lamentable tears. He had absorbed her in a single glance, and was now defining her as he worked. ‘I had no need of the place, and there was no money, of course. They are the only happy women in the Orient.
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