Seven hundred forty-two dollars and eighty-one cents, the sum total of her money in the world that she hid in a filigreed cigar box shelved behind her schoolbooks. ” He stalked around the room. ” “An appetite like yours,” he said resignedly, “is fatal to all sentiment. What has been the matter?” “Toothache,” he answered laconically. Because of the Dance. She heard the television blaring away. Their chit-chat stopped when they reached the bench. The chromatic fiction with which he relieved his mind glanced but slightly at this aspect of life, and never with any quality of guidance.
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