The Golden Circle

rteenth! This is

ords as she sat bolt upright in

esture toward a sofa pillow which, as the little French girl had reason to know, was both heavy and hard. And Florence had muscle. Of lat

d. “It is morning. I am awake. Wh

the clock!

Then her small mouth f

m awake!” sh

u with your hundred and sixty pounds, an

harm her little French

ht, flipped on another, and then continued, “I shall be away in one little minute. This is my luc

ned her face

ting her,” she wh

en resisting her,” sh

believed it would be easy to secure a booking for the coming season. It was not easy. Jeanne’s talents were limited. No dramatic production of any sort was being prepared for the coming y

She believed in what she called her “luck.” Fortunate child! Who c

eanne was keeping up her training. Just now, two hours before dawn, she was preparing to go to the p

he closet a spot of fla

whispered. “And this is

was as short as a circus rider’s costume and decorated with so many ruf

cks that rose scarcely above her shoetops, kicked on some pumps, switched

ite lights that gleam before midnight. As for Petite Jeanne, she preferred the hour before dawn, when all the wor

of the park to go skipping down the desert

ress,” she

ss, no, not in America at all. And y

l in her early teens, she had traveled with the Gypsies and danced with her pet bear. When she danced in this flaming gown, s

d. “And yet, perhaps it is a lucky dress f

wn a dark alley. Instantly her mood changed. On her face came a l

mmoning all her courage, she

psy face. It was an evil face, and one she h

yes. The man had seen the dress before.

bad! Bad!”

he doubled her pace. The man

er of a gypsy clan who bore a deadly hate for every member of the Bi

ment window. “Any port in a storm.” With a sprightl

re was she? What had ha