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"What's Bruce doing here?" asked Patricia, as they resigned themselves to the inevitable and prepared to await the event. "Your mind seems to run on the mother, David," said Jen, looking again at Sarby with keen inquisitiveness. "Can you prove by any chance that she committed the crime?" "I wonder what keeps Elinor? She's awfully late," complained Judith, shifting on one foot. "Let's go in and have lunch without her.".
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Patricia, promising to give Doris' messages to Elinor and the rest, hurried off, leaving the drawing-room windows once more blank and impassive. She ran into the studio as Griffin was rising to go, with her umbrella, reclaimed from the stand, still dripping slow occasional drops unheeded on the polished floor. "I see why Judy is so keen on the fine arts just now," teased David as he dropped into step again. "Lots of material for current fiction, eh, Ju?" "Yes, I will," I sniffed in a comforted voice. What woman wouldn't be comforted by being called a "perfect flower"? I looked out between my fingers to see what more he was going to say, but he had turned to a shelf and taken down two books. "But I assure you, David, the handkerchief is hers.".
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