She ought to have leapt back on guard. She was not very clear about the position and duties of a chorus-girl, but it certainly had the air of being a last desperate resort. "What have you got there in your breast—a stone? Is there blood or water in your veins?" The dam broke, but not with violence. She had never been so happy to vomit. "That's the whole difficulty. Seven hundred forty-two dollars and eighty-one cents, the sum total of her money in the world that she hid in a filigreed cigar box shelved behind her schoolbooks. “Where should we go?” Knowing that they would be dogged wherever they went, she volunteered, “Let’s go to the Big Apple. They are not your children, they never were. If it is that I am in the least French, and that you do not like it—’ ‘I don’t like it,’ snapped the old man.
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