They were only passers-by. " "A child!" thought Wood; it must be the fugitive Darrell. She felt privileged above other women at parties, where she was on display as all the duchesses and queens looked upon her with envy as he was so clearly entranced by her in every way. He lit a cigarette and loitered about. And then! a garment that was conceivably a secondary skirt. "I am twenty," said the girl. From the first there had always been between her and her listeners that electrical sympathy which only a certain order of genius seems able to create. .
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