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Judith looked wise. "I know how she feels," she declared, sagely. "I get awfully excited when I write something good. Why, sometimes I cry, I'm so happy about it, and I jump up and down, too, all by myself." "Yes, you do, too!" cried Judith ardently, flinging out a masterpiece. "You sound like a syncopated opera; doesn't she, Bruce?" "And why not, may I ask, David?".
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Conrad
"Poof! You needn't care," said Patricia, breezily. "If Bruce Haydon says you can draw, you shouldn't mind a lot of sloppy students. Wait till you've been here a month—you'll be rearing your crest as high as any." "It wasn't on the bulletin board this afternoon," said a girl across the table, who had been listening to this last speech. "Tell us about it, Griffie dear. We're all dying to hear." "Roberts, the big New York decorator. He's offering a hundred dollars for the best design for a panel for a library—originality to be the chief feature. Popsy Brown told me. I thought it had been announced." Patricia puckered her brows judicially..
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