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The Portion of Labor by Mary Eleanor Wilkins Freeman
page 77 of 644 (11%)
chilly.

"How did she look?" asked Cynthia.

"Why in the name of common-sense, Cynthia," he said, abruptly,
without noticing her query, "if you had to give that child china for
a souvenir, didn't you give her something besides Royal Sèvres?"
Lyman Risley undoubtedly looked younger than Cynthia, but his manner
even more than his looks gave him the appearance of comparative
youth. There was in it a vehemence and impetuosity almost like that
of a boy. Cynthia, with her strained nervous intensity, seemed very
much older.

"Why not?" said she.

"Why not? Well, it is fortunate for you that those people have a
knowledge for the most part of the fundamental properties of the
drama of life, such as bread-and-butter, and a table from which to
eat it, and a knife with which to cut it, and a bed in which to
sleep, and a stove and coal, and so on, and so on, and that the
artistic accessories, such as Royal Sèvres, which is no better than
common crockery for the honest purpose of holding the tea for the
solace of the thirsty mouth of labor, is beneath their attention."

"How does the child look, Lyman?" asked Cynthia Lennox. She was
leaning back in a great crimson-covered chair before the fire, a
long, slender, graceful shape, in a clinging white silk gown which
was a favorite of hers for house wear. The light in the room was
subdued, coming mostly through crimson shades, and the faint, worn
lines on Cynthia's face did not show; it looked, with her soft crown
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