“I wanted to go to an art-student ball of which he disapproved. Nothing. ‘Who is to be angry with you now?’ ‘Miss Prudence, that’s who,’ stated Joan bluntly. The chance had gone. Two children, who had been caught in the jam-closet: ingratiating smiles, back of which lay doubt and fear. "I haven't offended you?"—not contritely but curiously. He's more like a lord than—" As she spoke, steps were heard approaching; the door was thrown open, and a young man marched boldly into the room. “What the devil do you mean by coming for me like that?” Ennison exclaimed, glowering down upon him. She looked at me as though I were some unclean thing, as though my soul were weighted with every sin in the calendar.
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