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When the last verse had been read and the laughter died down, Griffin raised her voice again. "The very thing, Miss Pat," she agreed radiantly. "I'll look up the number for you." Judith looked wise. "I know how she feels," she declared, sagely. "I get awfully excited when I write something good. Why, sometimes I cry, I'm so happy about it, and I jump up and down, too, all by myself.".
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But Judith was not attending. Her eyes were fixed on the far side of the great station. "Have they anything to do with the death of Maurice?" "No; but she supplied the means to the man who did." Across the lawn there crept a wizen, gray-haired little man, with a cringing manner. He was white, but darkish in the skin, and there was something negroid about his face. This dwarfish little creature was a tramp, who had become a pensioner of Isabella's. He had attached himself to her like some faithful dog, and rarely failed to present himself at least once a day..
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