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"Him, Uncle Jen?" "It looks like a foreigner, all right," ventured Tom Hughes, and was rewarded for his courage by a flash of passionate gratitude from Patricia's big gray eyes. "You can depend upon my silence," said Isabella, who held out her hand..
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"Yes. I did not speak truly," stammered Isabella, "but I could not act otherwise. It was to save a certain person." Then just as I had got the first plan well going and was deciding whether to wear the mauve crêpe de Chine or the white chiffon with the rosebud embroidery as a first dose for my friends, a sweetness came in through my window that took my breath away, and I lay still with my hand over my heart and listened. It was Billy singing right under my window, and I've never heard him do it before in all his five years. It was the dearest old-fashioned tune ever written, and Billy sang the words as distinctly as if he had been a boy chorister doing a difficult recitative. My heart beat so it shook the lace on my breast, like a breeze from heaven, as he took the high note and then let it go on the last few words. "I'll give you the names later on, Mr. Inspector. In the meantime, be good enough to conclude your report of Battersea's confession. It interests me deeply." "Stuff!" protested Patricia stoutly. "You know you've been simply crazy to get here. Why spoil it all by squibbling? I think it's perfectly gorgeous. I'm wild to begin myself, and I'm about as green as any old shamrock. Besides, it's a mighty poor way to show your gratitude to Bruce for putting you right slap into the highest classes without slaving your life out for years, perhaps. I'll tell him——".
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