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FLAMING

“Why cry for it?

YOUTH

Reach out and help yourself,” she

said gaily. ‘“Them’s my principles. And now the fairy godfather is going to cut me off with a shilling. Ora year. Or less.” “Unless you obey orders it’ll be considerably less.” “Tet it! I’d rather do as I please while it lasts. I’ve rogued and I’ve ranged in my time,’ ”
 * ‘T*ve taken my fun where I found it,

sang Ralph Fentriss at the piano below to music of his own composing. “So have I,” murmured his wife. Her eyes grew brik liant, craving, excited

as they wandered

to the flower-

decked mantel upon which stood half a dozen photographs. All were of men. Though they varied in age and indications of character, they presented a typical similarity in being well-groomed and attractive. They might all have belonged to the same club. “Bob, do many women confess to their doctors?” “Lots.” “To your” “No. I don’t let *’em.”

“Why not?

I should think it would be interesting.”

“It’s only a trick to gratify the senses through recollection,” said the blunt physician. “Reflected lechery.” ‘You know too much, Bob. Then you won’t be my father confessor?” “I doubt if you could tell me much,” he said slowly. A smile, unabashed and mischievous, played upon her lips. “That’s an ambiguous sort of answer. Sometimes [ suspect that very little gets past you.” “T’m trained to observation,” he remarked. ‘And to silence. So you’re safe. I think it would do