See paragraph 1. The sing-song girl rose and meekly pattered out of the office into the night. No—you shall come with me to Waterloo. When I think of those ateliers of ours, the art jargon, the decadents with their flamboyant talk I long for a twoedged sword and a minute of Divinity. . It was no use. She knew that in her new rôle she was as likely as not to be a rank failure. The sound of their strident voices floated upwards, the high nasal note of the predominant Americans, the shrill laughter of girls quick to appreciate the wit of such of their male companions as thought it worth while to be amusing. Unless it was a jewel or locket of some kind. Her mother…. The brilliant sunshine poured through the window, effecting an oblong block of mote-swimming light. “Ah!” said Ramage, impressively.
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