Marjory Walked Pensively Along The Hall. In The Cool
Shadows Made By The Palms On The Window Ledge, Her Face
Wore The Expression Of Thoughtful Melancholy Expected On The
Faces Of The Devotees Who Pace In Cloistered Gloom. She Halted
Before A Door At The End Of The Hall And Laid Her Hand On The
Knob. She Stood Hesitating, Her Head Bowed. It Was Evident
That This Mission Was To Require Great Fortitude.
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