The windows were still darkened—perhaps she was not home yet. There was. She doubted if Manning would even listen to that. Her cheeks were the colour of chalk, her eyes were filled with terror. Besides, he was a Yale man. If you two are examples of the modern miss, I don’t know what the world is coming to. Her cheeks burned for a moment or two when she reached the street, although she held her head upright and walked blithely, even humming to herself fragments of an old French song.
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