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The Grain of Dust by David Graham Phillips
page 14 of 394 (03%)
"I'm staying of my own accord," said she.

"They ought not to give you so much work," said he. "I'll speak about
it."

Into the small face came the look of the frightened child--a fascinating
look. And suddenly he saw that she had lovely eyes, clear, expressive,
innocent. "Please don't," she pleaded, in the gentle quiet voice. "It
isn't overwork. I did a brief so badly that I was ashamed to hand it in.
I'm doing it again."

He laughed, and a fine frank laugh he had when he was in the mood.
At once a smile lighted up her face, danced in her eyes, hovered
bewitchingly about her lips--and he wondered why he had not at first
glance noted how sweet and charmingly fresh her mouth was. "Why, she's
beautiful," he said to himself, the manly man's inevitable interest
in feminine charm wide awake. "Really beautiful. If she had a
figure--and were tall--" As he thought thus, he glanced at her figure.
A figure? Tall? She certainly was tall--no, she wasn't--yes, she
was. No, not tall from head to foot, but with the most captivating
long lines--long throat, long bust, long arms, long in body and in
legs--long and slender--yet somehow not tall. He--all this took but an
instant--returned his glance to her face. He was startled. The beauty
had fled, leaving not a trace behind. Before him wavered once more a
small insignificance. Even her skin now seemed commonplace.

She was saying, "Did you wish me to do something?"

"Yes--a letter. Come in," he said abruptly.

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