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Updated: May 23, 2025
The President of the People's Lyceum Club heard the rustle of elegance, and met her at the stair-foot with bowing head and bended arm. That was a beautiful, triumphant moment, in which she crossed the space between the staircase and the door, and went down over the sidewalk to the hack. What would you have? There could not have been more of it, in her mind, though all Loweburg were standing by.
The little boys observed him with exasperation. The housemaids dropped their lower jaws with wonder, when she swept down the staircase; her café-au-lait silk rolling and glittering behind her, as if the breakfast for all Loweburg were pouring down the Phoenix Hotel stairs.
She took the knitting-work and straightened it; raveled down, and picked up, and with nimble stitches restored the lost rows. Mrs. Rhynde looked up at her and smiled. Then she offered to read. She had not read a word aloud from a printed page since that night in Loweburg. The old lady wanted a hymn. Marion read "He leadeth me." The book opened of itself to that place.
'Don't talk, Dot; I'm thinking. Good-by." There was half a whimper in Dorothy's last word. "Dot! You silly little thing!" And Rachel came over to the bedside, and put her arms round Dorothy, all crumpled as she was into a little round white ball. "I was thinking about Marion Kent." That night, Marion Kent was fifty miles off, in the great, mixed-up, manufacturing town of Loweburg.
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