She loved to be there, taking part in it all, breathing it, being it. Mr. It was an unspoken curfew in the Beck house on week nights. ” “Then you had better ring the bell,” she declared, laughing. She got up, drew up her blind, and stared out of window at a dawn-cold vision of chimneys for a time, and then went and sat on the edge of her bed. By a sort of instinct.
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