Nothing like the direct approach, she thought. The chromatic fiction with which he relieved his mind glanced but slightly at this aspect of life, and never with any quality of guidance. “Please play something for us,” Carol asked, her eyes aglow. I thought I’d see Paris, do the thing—like a toff. “Nigel, Nigel,” she cried. A SCENE FROM THE PHOTOPLAY. She posed herself before her mirror and surveyed herself with gravely thoughtful, gravely critical, and yet admiring eyes.
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