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until at last it sank upon his shoulder. He told her to take off her bonnet.

She obeyed. It was her best, of brown straw with a wreath of buttercups, but she was too sleepy to notice whether or not he was taking proper care of so precious an object.

She slept, holding his sleeve with both hands; her face was a white flower drifting in the musty darkness of the cab. He smoked, motionless, his mind revolving a hundred problems concerning the complicated manipulation of colored balls. The fog lifted a little as the cab crawled on through wider, gayer streets, where, as it was so soon after Christmas, the shop windows still blazed with lights, and brilliant toys, and Christmas trees aflare with gilt and tinsel.

Nurdo put his head out of the cab.

"Go to the Golden Cross Hotel."

They were a strange pair of lovers shut up there in the dark together. If the ghosts of Harlequin and Columbine prowled abroad that night and saw them pass, they must have laughed, so as not to weep, at this tawdry elopement of the dancer and the juggler.

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