"Whose child can this be?" "How the devil should I know!" replied Jonathan gruffly. And for me there is only one treasure-house. The smell of gunpowder was strong in the room. Hetty, looking out of the window—she always smoked her after-breakfast cigarette at the window for the benefit of the less advanced section of Morningside Park society—and trying not to raise objections, saw Miss Stanley going down toward the shops. He was perhaps forty-five years of age. She twisted her fingers tightly.
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