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"Isn't it lovely and mysterious?" murmured Elinor, pausing to enjoy the sense of isolation that the obscurity of the blurred lamps emphasized. "I almost hate to lift the curtain. It may be so disappointing." "He explained how my poor Maurice was killed." "I forgot," she said. "I never can remember that you're both the same age. You are always saying that he is so young, Miss Pat.".
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Judith, ignoring Patricia's pungent remarks, turned her calm eyes inquiringly to Elinor. "No," murmured Mrs. Dallas, sinking into a large chair. "You are right. I have been in the sun all the morning, and only now am I beginning to feel warm, I shall certainly go back to Barbadoes." "Oh, he couldn't say anything right out," replied Griffin knowingly, "but he made it hot for us, I tell you. Poor old Bottle Green caught it first, for painting before he'd given her permission, and then he jumped on me for not painting. Radford caught it and then he lit on Slovinski for using the Whistler palette, and she just blew up! These Poles aren't like us tame tabbies, you know, and she's full of ginger, for all her sleepy ways. She's terribly high-born, you know, and can't bear anyone to look cross-eyed at her." All the men who write me letters seem to get themselves wound up into a sky rocket and then let themselves explode in the last paragraph, and it always upsets my nerves. I was just about to begin to cry again over the last words of the judge, when the only bright spot in the day so far suddenly happened. Pet Buford ran in with the pinkest cheeks and the brightest eyes I had seen since I looked in the mirror the night of the dance. She was in an awful hurry..
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