Her hair once more was arranged with its old simplicity. Prudence attacked her chicken wing. "Stir a foot, at your peril. ’ Her lashes fluttered. There was no one at all in this room, but through the half-open door of one of the small apartments that gave upon it she had a glimpse of two very young girls sitting at a littered table and writing briskly. I suppose it depends on her own state of mind.
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