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"I have done so, and I have asked Mrs. Dallas also," replied Jen; "but it seems that Dido wasn't out of the house on that night. She was ill--and, oddly enough, I hear, Etwald, that it was you who made her ill." "So that was what you were up to?" she said. "I knew you had something on your mind, Judy Kendall, you crafty, clever thing. How perfectly glorious to think you're really in print!" "I'm going to ask Elinor if Hannah Ann and Henry can't come in town Saturday for the 'housebreaking,'" she said to Patricia as they climbed the stairs. "I think it would be very nice for them to see all our friends. They're such urbane dependents.".
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So Elinor went into the sitting-room where the telephone was, and in the intervals of their rather forced conversation, they could hear scraps of her kind questions and gentle answers. When she returned to the studio, her face was glowing. "To shield the assassin?" gasped Jen, thunderstruck. "And who is the assassin?" But Patricia was impatiently deaf. "Why doesn't he get on?" she whispered testily. "We know all about the conditions of the prize. What we want to know is—oh, Elinor, I'm horribly disappointed. I was afraid Doris Leighton would get it, but you ought to have had Honorable Mention. Griffin's isn't half so good as yours; she said so herself. Can you see what their canvases are like? I'm just so that the light glares on them for me. What's that he's saying now? He's talking about your study." "Does my face remind you of anyone?" he demanded rather sharply..
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