“Do you mind if I tweeze your eyebrows?” Shari asked her. He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude. ‘That’s right, you bone idle do-nothings. They were both conscious, however, that something had intervened between them. ” “It was a mistake,” she faltered.
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