"It's time for lights," said Meg Match, and swore a little at her spools.
Sene, in the pauses of her thinking, heard snatches of the girls' talk.
"Going to ask out to-morrow, Meg?"
"Guess so, yes; me and Bob Smith we thought we'd go to Boston, and come up in the theatre train."
"Del Ivory, I want the pattern of your zouave."
"Did I go to church? No, you don't catch me! If I slave all the week,
I'll do what I please on Sunday."
"Hush-sh! There's the boss looking over here!"
"Kathleen Donnavon, be still with your ghost-stories. There's one thing in the world I never will hear about, and that's dead people."
"Del," said Sene, "I think to-morrow—"
She stopped. Something strange had happened to her frame; it jarred, buzzed, snapped; the threads untwisted and flew out of place.