” “Is that bad?” A shade of concern deepened on Shari’s face. Earles strode into the waiting-room. She interrupted. There were one or two bitter moments in his life when he had been made to feel that gentility laid on with a brush may sometimes crack and show weak places—that deportment and breeding are after all things apart. It was the sing-song girl idea, magnified many diameters. He had promised her some books, for she had voiced her hunger for stories. She still had her letter of credit. Giles's was lined with spectators.
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