She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. “But if you knew anything of that—” “I did. For the past four weeks mirrors had been her delight, a new toy. But I must—I ought—” “I MUST talk about this. It hung from the centre of a stout pole, each end of which rested upon the calloused shoulder of a coolie; an ordinary Occidental chair with a foot-rest. Sheppard remained dissolved in tears. I have an engagement with a theatrical agent—I believe for the ‘Unusual’.
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