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FLAMING

YOUTH

“Hello! Who are you?” “Sh—sh-sh-sh!* she warned in startled sibilance. “Shush goes if you say so. Not dancing?”

“No.

They wouldn’t let me,” said Pat mournfully.

“Who wouldn*t?” “The family.”

“Snoutrage,” declared the stranger “You're one of the family, are you?” “Yes. I'm the kid. I hate it.”

economically

“Cinderella; yes? The lovely but wicked sisters— they’re peaches, too.” He spoke clearly but a little dis jointedly. “But you're not rigged for the part. You've got your regal rags on.” “They’re not mine. They're my sister's. I sneaked Sem.

“Snappy child! he laughed. “Let’s have a look.* He moved closer to her. A wsle of ight fell across his face. He was short and fair with a winsome, laughing mouth, and candid eyes.

Drooping her chin Pst studied

him covertly and decided that he was a winner.

She her

self was in the shadow; he could see little but contour.

But the rich hoarseness of the voice pleased him. “Pm glad I found you,” he murmured. Thrilling to his tone, all that she could find te say was: “Don’t speak so loud.” Naturally he took this as an invitation, and, moving still closer, felt for her hand in the darkness. Her fingers twined willingly within his. Instead of alarming her, his touch gave her confidence. “What are you doing out here?” she asked.

“Cooling off. The family brew’s got quite a kick in it.” “Has it? Get me some.” “You're too young.” “Den*t be hateful.”

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