There was the same airy grace of movement, the same deep brown hair and alabaster skin. "Your father—poor imbecile!—believes we ran away together. . That was how she projected it, and in general terms it seemed plausible and possible. His face was a little flushed perhaps, and his small, brown eyes were bright. “Perhaps,” he queried, “you wish to avoid being seen about with any one—er— connected with the profession, under present circumstances. A young woman with a white badge on her arm stood and counted the sections as they entered their vans. Here you only waste your time.
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