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"Hush," cautioned Patricia, using her eyes industriously. "It must be all right, or Bruce wouldn't have brought us. I like it. The floor is sanded, Judy! And those people at the snippy little tables under the stairs are French—just hear them gabble to the waiter." "Later on, my friend Cain," said the major, grimly. "You will have quite enough to do to save your neck from the halter." "That describes her to a T, doesn't it, Howes?" grinned the imperturbable Griffin. "That's the way we find her—so sweet that she is sickening, eh?".

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Patricia opened her plan with great expedition, pouring out explanation and entreaty in one excited rush, while Miss Jinny sat opposite her on the side of the bed, her rather protruding pale blue eyes cocked sidewise at her in the meditative way she had when deeply interested. "We'll meet you at the door on Charter Street," Elinor reminded her, as she kissed her. "Be sure to be there on time." I sat down at the long table by the window and slowly prepared to enjoy myself. I cut off four slices and buttered them to an equal thickness, and then more slowly put a long silver spoon into the jam. I even paused to admire in Jane's mirror over the table the effect of the cascade of lace that fell across my arm and lost itself in the blue shimmer of Madame Rene's masterpiece of a negligée, then deep down I buried the spoon in the purple sweetness. I had just lifted it high in the air when out of the lilac-scented dark of the garden came a laugh. Elinor smiled and her shining eyes traveled down the wide dim corridor with its rows of battered gray lockers, past the confusion of chairs and easels that clustered around the big screen of the composition room, straight into the farthest nook of the great bare work rooms beyond, where an array of heroic-sized white casts loomed conspicuous in the cold north light above the clutter of easels, stools and drawing-boards that encompassed the silent, intent workers..