The afternoon had passed now into twilight. She got up, drew up her blind, and stared out of window at a dawn-cold vision of chimneys for a time, and then went and sat on the edge of her bed. The temperature soared to one hundred degrees, sickeningly hot. . What she had termed illuminative now appeared to be only another phase of the mystery which enveloped the child. We’ll have some buttered toast. But she was not there.
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