E. “I’d rather go as a chorus-girl,” she said. At that, the girl jumped up. She hung about his chair, followed him to the door, touched his sleeve timidly, all the while striving to pronounce the words which refused to rise to her tongue. The man who sat behind a pigeon-hole, and regulated the comings and goings, was for a moment absent. “It was inevitable,” he declared. You were wide the mark, physically; otherwise you had him pat.
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