" CHAPTER XIX. Her body rose up to meet his in a cat-like stretch and she smiled. She repeated phrases of Mrs. “I think you are getting to understand me better. When she finished her last cadence, Carolyn and Thomas begged her to play encores. And, now, to find a messenger. It was dusty, with dirty clothing strewn about, a cracked basin thick with grime on the rickety dresser, and a film of grease on the leaded casement. But don't thank me; thank Miss Enschede. And like that gospel it meant something, something different from its phrases, something elusive, and yet something that in spite of the superficial incoherence of its phrasing, was largely essentially true.
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