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made me feel as though I wished I was some where else. 

An immediate flight for very fear we should never get away from the dreadful place, was what I advised, but Myra answered with a decisive "I'm not going back." 

Yesterday I did not have enough to do, so to kill time I went to sketching. As the gladiator just in front of me had been started in another idle mood, I gave it a few more touches; then fell to sketching from imagination. A back view of a little "Kate Greenwood girl" was one production. Another, a dainty little winter maidens surrounded and hidden by big hats and furs.
Between them was a profile of a little boy's face.

Miss Grigsby's old man became surrounded by ladies. Miss Sawyer sketched an excellent little lady: a fashionable one, with her pet pug standing on a curb-stone waiting for a street-car.

When Miss Minnigerode came I hustled my gladiator with his tiny children around on the other side my board. While giving my lesson, she suddenly said "what have you on the other side of your board!" and she had it over before I knew it.

I explained that I hadn't aimed for her to see it. It is my way, and I couldn't help it, so I just blushed.

The red dress I had on must have looked dull. And there was Miss Minnigerode almost

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