Diane did not hear the footsteps on her brick patio or the audible click of the back door lock being compromised. One always dreamed of this and never believed it. Then, presto! What a dreary lot they are when the revellers lay aside the motley! Ruth had come from a far South Sea isle. “FAIL!” she said. Day after day—five, to be exact—she had returned to Morgan's; and each time the man would understand what had drawn her, and with a kindly smile would sit down at the piano and play. Forgive me.
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