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 certain strain of Indian patience and ingenuity in women that no man has ever been able to understand.

Louie looked up and saw. His eyes met Sophy's. In his there crept a certain exultant gleam, as of one who had fought for something great and won. Sophy saw the look. The shy questioning in her eyes was replaced by a spark of defiance. She tossed her head, and turned to the man who had called attention to her costume.

"Who's now?" she jeered. "I always put in a yoke when it gets along toward . My lungs is delicate. And anyway, I see by the papers yesterday that collarless gowns is slightly passay f'r winter."