The Street of Seven Stars by Mary Roberts Rinehart
page 6 of 335 (01%)
page 6 of 335 (01%)
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bedroom slippers. Oh, Harry, I found your slippers!" The girl
got down off the chair and went to the door. "Thanks, dear," she said. "I'm coming in a minute." She went to the mirror, which had reflected the Empress Maria Theresa, and looked at her eyes. They were still red. Perhaps if she opened the window the air would brighten them. Armed with the brush, little Scatchett hurried to the Big Soprano's room. She flung the brush on the bed and closed the door. She held her shabby wrapper about her and listened just inside the door. There were no footsteps, only the banging of the gate in the wind. She turned to the Big Soprano, heating a curling iron in the flame of a candle, and held out her hand. "Look!" she said. "Under my bed! Ten kronen!" Without a word the Big Soprano put down her curling-iron, and ponderously getting down on her knees, candle in hand, inspected the dusty floor beneath her bed. It revealed nothing but a cigarette, on which she pounced. Still squatting, she lighted the cigarette in the candle flame and sat solemnly puffing it. "The first for a week," she said. "Pull out the wardrobe, Scatch; there may be another relic of my prosperous days." But little Scatchett was not interested in Austrian cigarettes with a government monopoly and gilt tips. She was looking at the ten-kronen piece. |
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