‘Possibly,’ he said. And this great mellow place, this London, now was hers, to struggle with, to go where she pleased in, to overcome and live in. During the week, her uniform was the blue and white scrubs of a nurse, the job she had suffered at for twenty-seven years. It was a queer little bed-sitting-room almost in the roof, with a partition right across it. “Time for my Patience,” she said. Honestly, I never did.
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