“Sheila and Mark McCloskey?” Michelle asked. She was a large, resilient girl, with a foolish smile, a still more foolish expression of earnestness, and a throaty contralto voice. He got up brusquely. What was the objection? She found it impossible to look her own diffidence in the face. She noticed an odd new gleam in Michelle’s eyes, a focus she had not noticed before. “I wonder if there is!” said Capes, and paused, and then bent down over the boy who wore his hair like Russell.
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