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Elinor promised, smiling at Patricia's vehemence, and went off with her canvas, securely wrapped against curious eyes, held firmly in one gray-gloved hand. Patricia was about to break into angry tears on Elinor's neck, but the brisk and significant air with which Griffin spoke roused her to herself again. She put Elinor's arms away, and going to the mirror, smoothed her tumbled hair, and whisked away the telltale traces of her collapse, while Elinor sat quietly on the edge of the couch watching her with fond anxiety. "Perhaps I can assist you.".
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Across the road a huge sycamore blocked the way and on the pike a giant willow had crashed down. The others stared at him, and with the skepticism of thoroughly healthy minds refused to attach much importance to Etwald's mysticism. Jen was the first to speak, and he did so in rather a stiff way, quite different from his usual jovial style of conversation. It was a little over a foot long, of a hard-looking green wood; the handle of gold was coarsely molded in a barbaric fashion round the turquoise stones, and these, of all hues, from green to the palest of blue, were imbedded like lumps of quartz in the rough gold. Round this strange implement there lingered a rich and heavy perfume, sickly and sensuous. "The devil-stick gone!" he said, turning on his heel. "Both you and I must be careful, Maurice.".
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