"Nothing—nothing," she answered, bursting into tears. The smells of skewered fennel, roast chicken, and broiled pheasant saturated the air, and she could smell other wonderful aromas about them. She was to fall back amongst the ruck, a young woman of talent, content perhaps to earn a scanty living by painting Christmas cards, or teaching at a kindergarten. To them all I am nothing. It is foolish, she murmured to herself, foolish.
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