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I went at last when I had barely a shilling in my purse to a dramatic agent. “You must not think of me as one. She turned the gas up in her little sitting-room, and sank wearily into an easy chair. A hansom stopped a little way off. “Glaciers?” she said. . She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. My profession has hardened me. We went to the Embassy.

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