There was granite in her face and agate in her eyes. 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. You’re a little late, you must remember, and we are punctual people here. ‘Quickly! You must get up. ” “But it is too late,” she declared. He said nothing.
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