The tired woman looked up in inquiring silence at Ann Veronica’s diffident entry. Her foster father, Larry, was the hard working son-of-a-bitch type with a disdain for suits. The three clerks fought for the only window, and saw her whisked into a hansom. If he could keep it up—style and calibre of imagination—within a year the name of Taber would become widely known. The girl only smiled at him serenely, but she laid her hand for a moment quietly upon his. .
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