It was an unspoken curfew in the Beck house on week nights. “You are late,” she murmured. " "Ah! Now I can get a perspective. She was to fall back amongst the ruck, a young woman of talent, content perhaps to earn a scanty living by painting Christmas cards, or teaching at a kindergarten. Let me make your future for you. ’ ‘Then you’re mad,’ Roding said flatly, and suddenly grinned. Again he played for her; and again the eruption of the strange senses that lay hidden in her soul. ‘I have no idea.
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