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"I wonder," she said, wrinkling her brows, "if Doris Leighton was afraid I'd garnish my panel with any of her ideas; she was so unnaturally stirred up about it." "Good stuff in the modeling room," she commented briskly. "But don't let old Bottle Green bulldoze you into thinking it's a deaf and dumb asylum or the vestibule to the morgue or any such sequestered spot. She's deadly dull, you know, and she almost faints if you whisper while the model is posing. She's monitor and I will say she enjoys the job." "That reminds me," broke out Griffin. "There's a prize for the mud larks, too. I've forgotten what it is, but it'll be posted in the morning. There's your chance, young 'un. You're eligible for it.".
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Elinor nodded. "She said I might as well tell you all, for it would be in the papers tomorrow. Her father has failed, and they're dreadfully poor. It's been coming on for a long while, and that was why she wanted the prize so much—not that she excused herself for it, she only said I could see how she came to stoop so low. She was frantic for the money and was so worried that she couldn't think of any subject for herself. She thought I was rich and happy and wouldn't care. She even thought I might not turn in my study at all, when I got sick that night. She's had a terrible time about it, but she was so glad to have the chance to explain." "Wake up, old lady," cried Patricia. "There's the gong, and we must fly." "How do you like it now?" asked Griffin, as the gong released them for the rest, and they slipped out in the corridor to look for Elinor. "Ah, you are lenient," replied Etwald, a shade of surprise passing over his features, a surprise which was reflected in the agitated face of David Sarby..
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