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But Monicker goes to these dances and he says they're right nice. And lots of of pretty girls. Nice girls. I wouldn't go alone. But you you're used to dancing, and parties and girls." He linked his arm through the other man's. Moran allowed himself to be propelled along, dazedly. Still protesting, he found himself in the elevator with a dozen red-cheeked, scrubbed-looking jackies.
A door at the back of the hall opened, and there came forward a girl with a scrubbed-looking face and a blue-and-white gingham apron over a blue cotton frock. She fixed her round china-blue eyes on Anne, and waited for her to speak. Anne opened her mouth and then shut it again. She did not know what to say. The blue-aproned girl caught sight of the trunk. "Oh, you're a new one!" she exclaimed.
"I'll have tea for you," he said, "in a jiffy. And I baked a pan of French rolls ten minutes ago. I had a feeling." A magnificent specimen of a man, over six feet tall slim, broad-shouldered, long-headed, and scrubbed-looking as only an Englishman can be, there was something almost pathetic in the sight of him bustling about the rickety little kitchen stove.
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