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 her publisher to please refer it to his mastiff again.

Campaspe was aware of Laura, making her delicate way across the room in her direction. In W. H. Mallock's The New Republic, it will be recalled, Mr. Rose carried a scrap of artistic cretonne in his pocket when he visited an ugly house, as a kind of esthetic smelling-salts. To serve a similar requirement of her own nature, Laura, when she permitted herself to attend a function that she considered in any sense vulgar, always wore an unbecoming dress. It gave her, no doubt, a feeling of security even in the midst of a presumably smirched, social atmosphere.

O, Campaspe, I'm so glad you're here, Laura cried. George would come—he says it's as good as a trip to Montmartre—and so I came too, but I'm. ..

Again Campaspe was finding it impossible to listen. It was a comparatively simple matter to talk to Laura by interjecting a monosyllable now and then, and at the same time overhear what her neighbours were saying.

Arabella Munson is coming back to America, Florizel announced to Lalla. If she dances here with as few clothes as formerly I propose for the motto across the façade of the theatre where she appears, The old lady shows her medals.

A few feet in front of her, his back towards her, stood a tall, distinguished man, held in the merciless grip of Isabel Pollanger's concentrated attention.