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Shila Coblenz, routing gloom, reached up tiptoe across the haberdashery counter for the suspended chain of a cluster of bulbs, the red of exertion rising up the taut line of throat and lifted chin. "A little light on the subject, Milt." "Let me, Mrs. Facing her from the outer side of the counter, Mr. Milton Bauer stretched also, his well-pressed, pin-checked coat crawling up.
There on her knees, trembling seized her, and she hugged herself against it, leaning forward to corroborate her gaze. "Mamma! Mamma! My God, Mamma!" "Home, Shila; home! My husband who died for it Aylorff! Home now, quick! My wreaths! My wreaths!" "O my God, Mamma!" "Home!" "Yes darling yes " "My wreaths!" "Yes, yes, darling; your wreaths. Let let me think. Freedom! O my God, help me to find a way!
My God! What shall we do? These spells! You'll kill yourself, darling. I'm going to take you back, dearie ain't that enough? I promise. I promise. You mustn't, mama! These spells they ain't good for a young girl like Selene to hear. Mama, 'ain't you got your own Shila your own Selene? Ain't that something? Ain't it? Ain't it?"
Shila Coblenz, routing gloom, reached up tiptoe across the haberdashery counter for the suspended chain of a cluster of bulbs, the red of exertion rising up the taut line of throat and lifted chin. "A little light on the subject, Milt." "Let me, Mrs. Facing her from the outer side of the counter, Mr. Milton Bauer stretched also, his well-pressed, pin-checked coat crawling up.
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