“Gods,” she said, at last, “I’ve done it this time!” “Well!” She took up the neat morocco purse, opened it, and examined the contents. " "What proof have you that I am?"—was the return bolt. The sun shined weakly through brief pinpricks 90 in the thick cloud cover, the weather was brewing a storm. She could see that she was now the exclusive object of the boy’s attention. “My sister,” she murmured, “is so independent.
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