For just as though a vague likeness is sometimes borne swiftly in upon one, so a vague dissimilarity between the face on the poster and the heroine of his thoughts had slowly crept into his consciousness. “My dear friend,” she laughed, “not so tragic, if you please. But if not himself, there would be another soon enough. Her curiosity was insatiable, her dreams filled with happy speculation over what hair color her babies would inherit. Dump instantly complied, and as soon as Jack was removed from the sacred edifice, his person was searched from head to foot—but without success. He leaned towards her, laid his hand tenderly upon hers. Instinctively she had fallen into the posture of the poster, her hands behind her, her head bent slightly forward, her chin uplifted, her eyes bright with the drollery of the song.
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