A little smothered cry broke from her lips—the curtains were thrown aside and a man stepped out. “You silly wimmin,” he said over and over again throughout the hearing, plucking at his blotting-pad with busy hands. She had thought to wear it now, since she must look more the demoiselle. He felt his heart beat faster and faster—his self-restraint slipping away. She pulled him down by his lapels and arched her head readily towards his neck. She seemed to grow more beautiful to him and not the opposite.
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