Sydney was strumming over a new song which stood upon the piano. It was a beautiful place that she had found, a round cave by a small stream. But he wrote on. Say that I will call again or let him know my address in London. ‘You! Have you pen and paper?’ ‘Pen and paper now, is it?’ grumbled the old man as he shuffled down the hall. It had been easy to steal. Flowers, theatre boxes, carriages, the “open sesame” to the whole world of pleasure. What beasts men are! I cannot typewrite, my three stories are still wandering round, two milliners have refused me as a lay figure because business was so bad.
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