She was to fall back amongst the ruck, a young woman of talent, content perhaps to earn a scanty living by painting Christmas cards, or teaching at a kindergarten. They might applaud, or object, or interfere, but the drama was her very own. She will not confide in me. From time to time the man below would shout, and the boy would let the threads go with the snap of a harpist, only to recover them instantly. Courtlaw opened his lips, but remained silent in the face of her imperative gesture.
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