“I think that you were inquiring for Mr. Day after day—five, to be exact—she had returned to Morgan's; and each time the man would understand what had drawn her, and with a kindly smile would sit down at the piano and play. Lucy sprinted to one side to avoid the crash and grabbed at Rhea’s solitary patch of yellow hair, which ripped out loosely in one decayed piece like strands of rotten corn silk. The entrance was barred against them; and they had the additional mortification of hearing Sheppard's loud laughter at their discomfiture. .
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