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He brooded, fuming, at what seemed to him the supremest exhibition of pure cheek, of monumental nerve, and of undiluted crust that had ever come within his notice. To come and charge into a private conversation like that and whisk her away without a word... "Who was that blighter?" he demanded with heat, when the music ceased and Sally limped back. "That was Mr. Schoenstein."
Look here," he said lowering his voice, "I know how you hate being thanked, but I simply must say how terrifically decent..." "Miss Nicholas." Lee Schoenstein was standing at the table, and by his side an expectant youth with a small moustache and pince-nez.
I come here every night." Sally was aware of this. She had seen him often, but this was the first time that Lee Schoenstein, the gentlemanly master of ceremonies, had inflicted him on her. "I come here every night and dance past her table, but she won't look at me. What," asked Mr. Cracknell, tears welling in his pale eyes, "would you do about it?" "I don't know," said Sally, frankly.
Sally found herself back at her table without knowing clearly how she had got there. "Miss Nicholas." She started to rise, and was aware suddenly that this was not the voice of duty calling her once more through the gold teeth of Mr. Schoenstein. The man who had spoken her name had seated himself beside her, and was talking in precise, clipped accents, oddly familiar.
At nine old Parvenzano lets me through to his back yard, where there's a board off Riddle's fence, next door. I go under her window and help her down the fire-escape. We've got to make it early on the preacher's account. It's all dead easy if Rosy don't balk when the flag drops. Can you fix me one of them powders, Ikey?" Ikey Schoenstein rubbed his nose slowly.
But in those days she had never had headaches or, what was worse, this dreadful listless depression which weighed her down and made her nightly work a burden. "Miss Nicholas." The orchestra, never silent for long at the Flower Garden, had started again, and Lee Schoenstein, the master of ceremonies, was presenting a new partner. She got up mechanically.
The store is on a corner about which coveys of ragged-plumed, hilarious children play and become candidates for the cough drops and soothing syrups that wait for them inside. Ikey Schoenstein was the night clerk of the Blue Light and the friend of his customers. Thus it is on the East Side, where the heart of pharmacy is not glace.
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