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He found Maida quick of wit to catch his plans; and agile of body to follow him. They climbed down the metal frame-work of the escalator sides; down under it to where the inverted steps were passing downward on the endless belts. Maida slid into one of them, with Georg after her, his arms holding her in place. They huddled there. No one had seen them enter.
Westabrook looked about him. “Getting towards Revere.” “Let’s go home through Charlestown,” Dr. Pierce suggested. “How would you like to see the house where I was born, Maida—that old place on Warrington Street I told you about yesterday. I think you’d like it, Pinkwink.” “Pinkwink” was Dr. Pierce’s pet-name for Maida.
Ladies who shop in carriages, you do not understand. Girls whose wardrobes are charged to the old man's account, you cannot begin to comprehend you could not understand why Maida did not feel the cold dash of the Thanksgiving rain. At five o'clock she went out upon the street wearing her purple dress. The rain had increased, and it beat down upon her in a steady, wind-blown pour.
You’re like Rose-Red in ‘Rose-Red and Snow-White.’ I think,” she added, flushing, for she was a little afraid that it was not polite to say things like this, “that you are the beautifulest girl I ever saw.” “Why, that’s just what I think of you,” Rosie said in surprise. “I just love black hair,” Maida said. “And I just adore golden hair,” Rosie said. “Now, isn’t that strange?”
But many of them did not stay; and now I remembered that, one by one, I had seen them slip away, lured by the slim, white shapes of girls who came from the pool to beguile them. I realized now that these girls of the scented pool were very possibly all working for Maida. Most daring of all at the festival, these fifty girls who now disported themselves in the water at my feet.
Chumpleigh’s health will be perfect.” “Well, perhaps, it’s just as well if he goes,” Rosie said sensibly; “we haven’t done a bit of work since he came.” On Sunday the weather moderated a little. Mr. Chumpleigh bore a most melancholy look all the afternoon as if he feared what was to come. What was worse, he lost his nose. Monday morning, Maida ran to the window dreading what she might see.
At twelve the children would begin to flood the shop again and Maida would be on her feet constantly until two. Between two and four came another long rest. After school trade started up again. Often it lasted until six, when she locked the door for the night. In her leisure moments she used to watch the people coming and going in Primrose Court.
But Maida kept her eyes steadily on his. “You know what I’m talking about well enough,” she said quietly. “In the last week you’ve stolen a rubber and a pencil and a blank-book from me and just now you tried to take some money from the money-drawer.” Arthur sneered. “How are you going to prove it?” he asked impudently. Maida was thoroughly angry.
The Princess Maida " "You are the friend?" Georg whispered tensely. Elza was trembling and I put my arm about her. Wolfgar's face lightened with a brief smile; then went intensely serious. "Yes. A spy, trusted by Tarrano for years but my heart is with the Princess Maida. We must escape all of us now, or it will be too late." He stopped abruptly, and a look of consternation came to him.
“Hooking jack?” Maida repeated in a puzzled tone. “Hooking jack—playing hookey—playing truant.” Dicky watched Maida’s face but her expression was still puzzled. “Pretending to go to school and not going,” he said at last. “Oh,” Maida said. “I understand now.” “She just hates school,” Dicky went on. “They can’t make her go. Old Stoopendale, the truant officer, is always after her.
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