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 just heard about them—'Oh yes, daffodils: yellow flowers; spring, mother's vases, bulbs, borders, flashing past flower-shop windows'—but taken one up in your hands and felt it?"

How she was haranguing them!

"It's very difficult to be clever about things one's used to," said Millicent. "That's why history essays are so much easier. You tell us about things, and we just write them down."

"That's why you're so lazy; you're using my brains; just giving me back what I gave you again, a little bit the worse for the wear."

They looked hurt and uncomfortable.

Doris got up and walked over to the fire-place.

("Good," thought Miss Murcheson, "it will relieve the tension a bit if they will only begin to prowl.")

"What a pretty photograph. Miss Murcheson. Who is it? Not—not you?"

"Me?" said Miss Murcheson with amusement. "Yes. Why not? Does it surprise you, then?"