Rollo began to cavort. Pure luck! If the boy had grown a moustache or a beard, a needle in the haystack would have been soft work. In the sixth center row sat an unexpected guest, his Classical Greek features stark in the yellow half light. ‘You, soldiers,’ she yelled. She had not made friends with any; so they still eyed her askance. For the face under her gaze she could find but one expression—fine. Even WITH the Censorship of Plays there’s hardly a decent thing to which a man can take his wife and daughters, a creeping taint of suggestion everywhere. She went to the basement and shed her sodden coat and scarf, tossing them into her favorite modern appliance, the electric dryer. Once before—but that had been different.
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