It was her figure, her style of dress, her manner of arranging the hair. A moistened velvet touch found her tongue. Ralph. The night was now advancing, and the party began to think of separating. What a girl of sixteen cares for is hair and a high color and moonlight and a tenor voice. "What is it you want?" she asked, as she held out the coat. The place pulsed with music too loud to converse above.
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