"
I was filled with amazement, grief, and rage.
"The horrible wretch!" I exclaimed. "What malignant wickedness!"
"Oh," said Sylvia, holding up one finger, "you mustn't talk like that
about the sister. She may think she is right, but I don't see how she
can; and perhaps she would have some reason on her side if she could see
me standing here talking about her, instead of attending to my work. But
I determined that I would not go away without saying a word. You have
always been very courteous to us, and I don't see why we should not be
courteous to you."
"Are you sorry to go?" I asked, getting as close to the grating as I
could. "If they would let you, would you go on writing for me?"
"I should be glad to go on with the work," she said; "it is just what I
like."
"Too bad, too bad!" I cried. "Cannot it be prevented? Cannot I see
somebody? You do not know how much I--how exactly you"--
"Excuse me," said Sylvia, "for interrupting you, but what time is it?"
I glanced at the clock. "It wants four minutes of twelve," I gasped.
"Then I must bid you good-by," she said.
"Good-by?" I repeated. "How can you bid me good-by? Confound this
grating! Isn't that door open?"
"No," she replied, "it's locked. Do you want to shake hands with me?"
"Of course I do!" I cried.
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