” Mike blurted, his voice swallowed by the throb of loud music. The commissionaire smiled. " "Six," he corrected. The joy that filled her veins with throbbing fire urged her to rise and go swinging and whirling and dipping. She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. Perhaps I'd better open it now. ’ ‘Of course she could not have known to whom they belonged.
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