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The blouse dried nicely, it would only need a touch of starch and a little ironing. " "Your secret?" demanded Trenchard, impatiently. It came into her head with real emotional force that this must be some particularly fantastic sort of dream. You got to take the world as it is, and the only possible trade for a girl that isn’t sweated is to get hold of a man and make him do it for her. They got to go home and eat Campbell’s Chicken Soup. Besides, I acted for others, and not for myself.
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