"Oh, Maurette!" she cried. "0h, Mama is piqued. Can you not hurry?" Imogene spoke in gasps as she rustled from one end of the room to the other. "Please, darling Edyth," she pleaded, "make your usual wonderful work of Maurette's hair, but please, please make it apace. Our mother fumes and keeps watching the staircase."
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