“You are coming in, aren’t you, Sydney?” “If I may,” he answered. At last she was roused. Well, I'll take myself off. She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet. She glanced at the soft-ticking clock with the exposed brass pendulum upon the white marble mantel, and made a rapid calculation. Until now none of her prayers had ever been answered.
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