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"Gone! gone!" moaned Isabella, rising. "Oh, my dear, dead lover." Patricia preceded them to the corner where Elinor, rather pale and agitated, was holding back as Bruce tried to lead her to the model stand. Patricia thought that Bruce's insistence had something to do with the decoration, which was half forgotten by most of the company, and she laid a detaining hand on Elinor's other arm. "I refuse to marry Mr. Sarby," said Isabella, vehemently. "I hate him!".
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Conrad
Patricia gazed approvingly at the dim, shadowy study of graceful figures grouped in attentive attitudes about a reader in a landscape of suggested loveliness that spoke to any observer with delicate symbolism. The windows remained dark, and the only sounds on the quiet side street were the wind in the wet trees and the sizzle of the arc light above her head. "No, no! I hope not," cried Jen, horrified at the idea. "What is the matter with you today, Ju?" she asked in an undertone, "I do wish you'd behave yourself. Bruce will be sorry he asked us if we're going to act like wild Indians.".
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