"Why, it's like a laundry," exclaimed Patricia in disappointment as she looked about her. The low-ceiled whitewashed apartment into which they had descended from the winding iron stair was sepulchrally bare and empty in the flicker of its noisy gas jets, the rusty gas stoves at its farther end emphasizing its general air of desolation.,
"Good heavens!" cried Jen, recoiling. "What do you mean?",
Patricia took the bit of canvas board, and held it at arm's length, squinting at it with eyes that gradually brightened..
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