She trailed him to his apartment and a black door that read 727 in solemn gold-tone lettering. She sank upon her knees and unbuttoned his coat. He entered the room with his usual deliberation, and looked covertly about him. "Well?" he whispered. Lucy found solace in the lack of sunshine, but the November cold was over the top, even for Illinois. On the floor was a handkerchief, a little morsel of lace.
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