But she did not bother her head very much about her relations with these sympathizers. The place, in which they stood, was a small entrance-chamber, cut off, like the segment of a circle, from the main apartment, (of which it is needless to say it originally constituted a portion,) by a stout wooden partition. Her foster father, Larry, was the hard working son-of-a-bitch type with a disdain for suits.
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