“Will you tell Sydney that I will see him in the morning,” he said. “I said you were”—he shouted—“NOT TO GO!” She made, and overdid, an immense effort to be a princess. So the talk went on, and presently they were criticising novelists, and certain daring essays of Wilkins got their due share of attention, and then they were discussing the future of the theatre. Lucy waited for the next Phys. "What is a sing-song girl?" she asked. And one must—some of it must slip through one’s fingers.
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