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Under the fragrant sprays lay a small white-paper parcel, tied with narrow blue satin bows, such as no English fingers could accomplish, and within was a little frock-body, exquisitely embroidered, with a breastplate of actual point lace in a pattern like frostwork on the windows.
The fruit should be gathered by the hand before it be thoroughly ripe, and the box kept in a dry place. FRUIT BISCUITS. To the pulp of any scalded fruit, put an equal weight of sugar sifted, and beat it two hours. Then make it into little white-paper forms, dry them in a cool oven, and turn them the next day. They may be put into boxes in the course of two or three days.
Under her arm she carried a white-paper package, very badly wrapped. Miss Terry exchanged with her brother a glance which said, "I told you so!" The child seemed bashful and afraid to speak; no wonder! Tom's kind heart yearned to her. "Good morning! Wish you a merry Christmas, Mary!" he said smiling. The child gave a start. "Why, how did you know my name?" she cried. Tom looked confused.
And then, because her weekly dollar-and-twenty-five-cent room rent fell due that evening, she wrapped two fresh and self-laundered waists, some white but unlacy underwear, a mound of window-dried handkerchiefs, a little knitted shoulder-shawl so long worn by her mother, her tooth-brush and tube of paste, and all her sundry little articles no less indispensable, into a white-paper package.
Once more, on the wings of vision, Miss Terry was out in the snowy street. She was following the fleet steps of a little girl who carried a white-paper package under her arm. Miss Terry knew that she was learning the fate of her old doll, Miranda, whom her own hands had thrust out into a cold world. Poor Miranda! After all these years to become the property of a thief!
A silver quarter gleamed momentarily from hand to hand, and he passed to one girl stealthily a small white-paper packet. Others came to him, both men and women. It seemed to be an established thing. "Who is that?" asked Kennedy, in a low tone, of the pickpocket back of us. "Coke Brodie," was the laconic reply. "A cocaine fiend?"
It was then that Venetia's effect upon him acted as the contents of the white-paper acts when emptied into the tumbler that holds the blue-paper-half of the seidlitz powder. Venetia saw his face. "Don't make a scene," she cried. That was the stirring of the spoon. He rushed up to the bearded man and caught him by the arm. The bearded one turned sharply and pushed him away.
May I be permitted to sit beside you on this bench, gnadige Frau?" He sat down, tugging at a white-paper package in the tail pocket of his coat. "Cherries," he said, nodding and smiling. "There is nothing like cherries for producing free saliva after trombone playing, especially after Grieg's 'Ich Liebe Dich. Those sustained blasts on 'liebe' make my throat as dry as a railway tunnel. Have some?"
He even came to wishing himself back at the Castle of the Black Bird, for there at least he saw some living beings, whereas on board the white-paper ship he was absolutely alone, and could not imagine how he was ever to get away from his wearisome prison.
"I'm goin' to take you across the street there to the Young Women's Shelter Home for to-night. Just across there. See the sign? Don't be afraid, Stella. Please don't be afraid." "I ain't." He retied the white-paper package, tucking it up under one arm. "Come, Stella." She rose, swaying for the merest second. His arm shot out.
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