It was the sing-song girl idea, magnified many diameters. She had asked about that already, and her father had replied, evasively: “We’ll have to see about that, little Vee; we’ll have to see about that. You must live for me. ” He did not appear to require any answer to his question. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled.
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