” He sidled toward her, but she recoiled from him, leaving him in possession of the hearth-rug. He had fallen off when trying to tie down his aluminum paint ladder. She smiled mechanically at the audience, holding her violin limply, feeling the hot lights on her made-up face. “Look here,” he said, protruding his eyes; “why get anything to do at all just yet? Why, if you must be free, why not do the sensible thing? Make yourself worth a decent freedom. She would look up, shake her head, and then go back to her reading or crewelwork.
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