The passion of pent-up speech compelled action of some sort. “Just forget it, Lucy! Keep your secrets to yourself!” He stomped out, slamming the heavily paneled oak door. “Was I that bad?” He asked. They both listened intently. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. “Young lady! Are you sure you’re of legal age to be smoking those cigarettes?” “No, I’m not of legal age. At last I tried a dramatic agent, and got on the music hall stage.
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