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is write home, say I felt bored and decided to take a job.
No one would have to know anythingthat she was taking pay instead of being an unpaid volunteer, as usual; that she was living on the pay. Linda's lips curved into a mischevious smile and the pink faded from her pert nose, restoring her charm. She moved to the graceful Chippendale writing desk, drew a sheet of hotel stationery from it, and began to write swiftly. Her letter was quickly finished, and she picked up the phone and asked for a porter to mail it and bring her a newspaper. Lots of things had changed in London, but the service in Claridge's had not. In ten minutes Linda was again curled up on the sofa, but this time she was bright and cheerful, perusing the want ads.
Soon a frown dimmed the bright expectancy of her expression. There were problems she had not considered. England had a surplus of employable people and Linda had a dearth of practical skills and experience. The latter would eliminate the possibility of getting work as a secretary or salesgirlmost of the adsand the former would make the authorities reluctant to provide her with permission to work, particularly when her financial condition did not merit special exemption.
With dimming hope she scanned the wanted columns. Really there was nothing. Disappointed, she turned the page idly and there, at the

 
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