If the creator drew a hero anything like himself, she would accept it as a sign that he did care a little. But I was sorry for poor Jack—as I am still, and hoped he would mend. “I loathe afternoon concerts, and——” She was really like her sister he thought, impressed for a moment by the soft brilliancy of her smile. In each corner stood a stout square post reaching to the ceiling. Their soft, voluptuous bodies wove among each other to the faint notes of a lyre. " "She is a matchless creature!" exclaimed the young man. He lowered his voice a little and leaned over towards her. His salvation—if there was to be any—lay in her ignorance of life.
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