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FLAMING

YOUTH

She moved closer to him, with puzzled eagerness in her eyes. ‘Won't you please tell me what you mean?” “Consult your memory,” he suggested. “Surely it will go back for twenty-four hours.” Illumination came to her. “Was it you who came around the corner last night?’

“It was.” Pat’s eyes fell, But there was a light in them which he would have found hard to interpret, harder than he thought her next plaintive, exculpatory words: “It’s been so long since anyone has petted me.” “And you require a certain amount of petting to keep you up to form,” he remarked with cold contempt. “You've got the meanest way of speaking,” she muttered, before making direct response. “Well, if nobody ever pets you, you get to feeling like a social leper; as if nobody cared about you. That’s a ghastly feeling.” “I’m sure you’re quite competent to guard yourself against it.” “Well, you wouldn’t pet me,” she said very low, “when you'd hurt my feelings. In the music room.” “How very remiss of me!” Her attitude changed. Her boyish shoulders straightened. Her firm little chin went up. “How much did you see last night?” “Sufficient to suggest that I was in the way.” “Were Monty and I clinched?” “Quite so.” “And you went on right away?” “Naturally.” “If you had stayed,” she said calmly, “you might have been of some use.

Monty was pickled.

te crash when I grabbed him.” “Ts that true, Pat?”

He was just going

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