The hand which the man had been holding hung limp and nerveless at her side. ” She watched his face as he traced his way through these speculative thickets. The curtain before one mystery was torn aside, and she saw in reality what lay behind the impulse that had led her into the young man's room. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. “I’d rather go as a chorus-girl,” she said.
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