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Updated: June 7, 2025
Robson, and Claire was divided between a feeling of wounded family pride, and gratification at the intuition which had warned her to leave her mother to her own devices. More people arrived on Claire's heels, and in the lively bustle she was left to shed her wraps in one of the bedrooms. Her heart was pounding with reaction at her outwardly self-contained entrance.
Nor did Sidonie add that she had entreated all those friends of Claire's, of whom she spoke so scornfully, to come to see her on her own day, and that the day was selected by them. Will they come? Will Madame Fromont Jeune insult Madame Risler Aine by absenting herself on her first Friday? The thought makes her almost feverish with anxiety. "For heaven's sake, hurry!" she says again and again.
Claire's cleverness and liveliness made her a pleasant companion at times for Shelley and Mary; but even had they been sisters and they had been brought up together as such Mary might have found her constant presence in confined lodgings irksome, especially as Claire tormented herself with superstitious alarms which at times, even in reading Shakespeare, quite overcame her.
Madame Fromont drew back, remonstrating: "No, no, Risler, not that." "It must be," said the implacable Risler. "Restitution, reparation! Down on your knees then, wretched woman!" And with irresistible force he threw Sidonie at Claire's feet; then, still holding her arm; "You will repeat after me, word for word, what I say: Madame " Sidonie, half dead with fear, repeated faintly: "Madame "
Before the second night was over Claire had read Black Beauty from cover to cover; the next morning she was dipping into the catalogue, and trying to concentrate her attention on "stock." As her body grew rested, Claire's mind became increasingly active. It was inevitable, but the second stage was infinitely harder to bear.
Janet Willoughby put her hand on Claire's arm and piloted her deftly through the crowd. "Now," she said firmly, "you just stay here, and I'll bring up all the nicest men in the room, and introduce them in turns. You shall have a good time, and you are wearing the very prettiest things in the room if it's any comfort to you to hear it. We won't talk about school any more. To-night is for fun!"
Perhaps the most indefinable change had come over Claire's home life. Her mother's unfailing string of trivial gossip, formerly not without a certain interest, now scarcely held her to even polite attention. Indeed, her self-absorbed silence, while Mrs. Robson poured out the latest news about Mrs.
DICK digs his hand into the dirt. HARRY jumps to one side, fearfully looks around. HARRY: Why it's Tom! And Claire's got the key. Claire! Are you there? Didn't you hear the revolver? Has she gone down the cellar? Well, I love the way she keeps people locked out! DICK: And in. Is he asking if he shall shoot himself? Um um!
The eyes of the two girls met like clashing swords. But in spite of Claire's declaration that nothing would induce her to spend another night at Dolittle Cottage, when it was ascertained that the first train on which she could take her departure left at ten o'clock next morning, she did not seek the hospitality of Mrs. Snooks' roof, nor even suggest sleeping on the lawn.
She had been on tiptoe for new and vital experiences, and yet, for any outward sign, her life bid fair to escape the surge of any torrential circumstance. Particularly, at the office, things had gone on smoothly. The other clerks had accepted Claire's advancement without either protest or enthusiasm. Even Miss Munch had veiled her resentment behind the saving trivialities of daily intercourse.
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