“That young man was giving a luncheon party to a dozen friends at the Café de Paris to-day. “I’m sorry Mister McCloskey! I was out seeing my boyfriend!” He stared at her concernedly. "I can't hold it much longer—it'll break my wrist. “Get you a cold one?” “No thanks. He drew a chair to the side of the bed and sat down, terrified by the utter fallowness of his mind. He said that for him beauty justified life, that he could not imagine a good action that was not a beautiful one nor any beautiful thing that could be altogether bad. I’m sorry I ruined dinner. Earles’ waiting-room who would march you straight off to a registrar’s office. I will return to Manchester at once. Yet the thing hidden within her called and called. It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six.
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