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"Tom Hughes is an awfully nice boy," she said, slipping a hand into Judith's and Elinor's arm, as they paced the platform, waiting for Miss Jinny's train. "But for pure, sheer adorableness, give me Mr. Hilton, every time. Don't you think he's a perfect duck, Elinor?" Patricia nodded as she held the door wide for Elinor. "Griffin said she'd be ready for us, and Margaret Howes is coming straight down from composition class." In the taxicab she unfolded the plans for the week that Miss Jinny had promised them, dwelling on each detail with all the ardor of her enthusiastic nature..

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She washed her tools in the grimy tanks of the clay room, more in love with it every minute, and when she joined Elinor at their lockers, she was fairly bursting with enthusiasm. "I guessed as much," said the major once more. "I no know, massa. She weep! She ill! She make terrible bobbery, dat poo' girl. Massa, come an' see my lil missy dis day." The room was very dark at first, and little whispers ran all about in the gloom. There was a rustling and shuffling and a sound of hurried, muffled steps. Patricia, from her hiding place behind the door screen, could make out nothing but the dim oblong of the transom above her head and the long pale mass of the skylight..