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"Pretty smelly sort of a place, isn't it?" said Tom Hughes to Patricia, with great cheerfulness. "I suppose you get awfully mussed up with that clay, too. Isn't it hard to work in?" Griffin grinned good-naturedly. "Keep your righteous wrath for the right fellow, young 'un. When you've been in the night life as many years as I have, you'll know that we don't choose a leader—she simply elects herself by taking the head of the procession. We never know who's who after we rig up. That's part of the game. So, you see, it may have been the charming Doris, or Howes here, or my unworthy self, that put those obnoxious questions to your sister—no one knows for sure, and the mean cuss won't tell." "Listen to him!" exclaimed Patricia, gayly. "He's been abroad for months in all sorts of grandeur, and he pretends——".
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"I'm going to take mine in to the Academy to work on this afternoon while I wait for the night life," said Elinor on Thursday as they were leaving the breakfast room. "I want to see how it looks among the big casts and life studies. I'm afraid it won't show up very well among the real things, but it may help me to see its faults and remedy them while I still have time." "I shall tell it to you," replied Jen, with some hesitation; "but I am afraid I shall give you pain." 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. "Life in death!" repeated Maurice, in puzzled tones. "And what do you mean by that mystical jargon, doctor?".
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