But I don’t care; I haven’t a spark of shame. “Why can’t you tell people that you are what you are? Why all the secrecy?” She looked beyond the farmhouse. He handed her a cheque for thirty-one pounds, ten shillings, and read the agreement through to her. The twenty pounds burned with avidity. "You base ingrate," she added, in a whisper, as she flounced past Mr. .
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