"Will you plead?" demanded Wild, harshly. When they were going home she asked her mother why she and Gwen and Alice had cried. Old farmhouses loomed as they whizzed by, left behind in the gray like mourners. It appeared he had already ordered dinner and wine, and the whiskered waiter waved in his subordinate with the soup forthwith. The emerald wings, slashed with scarlet and yellow, wheeling and swooping about her head, there among the wild plantain. Her head swam.
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