Prompty the beginning of twilight, there came again to that quietcorner of that quiet small park the girl in gray. She sat upon a bench and read a book, for there was yet half an hour left in which one could still read outside.To repeat: Her dress was gray, and quite plain. A large- meshed veil masked her hat and also her face which shone through it with a calm and unconscious beauty. She had come there at the same hour on the previous day and on the day before that, and there was someone in the park who knew it.The young man who knew it hovered near, offering small prayers to that great lady, Luck. His prayers were rewarded; for, in turning a page, her book slipped from her fingers and bounded from the bench a full yard away.The young man pounced upon it with eagerness and returned it to its owner with the kind of style which seemed to flourish in parks and public places— a mixture of manly politeness and hope and watchful respect for a policeman who might happen by.
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