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“I don’t even knohat the Artists Syndicate is And whatever it is I certainly don’t represent it”

“And you don’t know Mademoiselle Viorets?”

“I knoho she is I do not recall everher”

“You would,” said Tarses “She’s a looker”

“I am a married man,” Brooks said stiffly

Bell stood up “Further proof that he’s on the up and up, Mr Tarses Sorry to have interrupted your supper”

“Mrs Rennegal,” Marion said to her favorite Cooper-Hewitt operator “We are supposed to be laying a scene on a pier beside a ship on a foggy night in the spooky glare of searchlights This looks like a romantic candlelit dinner for two”

“But Mrs Bell,” said Rennegal, cli wearily down the ladder froh in the flies over a stage decorated to depict the i at Ellis Island, “Mr Bitzer and Mr Davidson keep cohts overexpose their film”

“That is why I sent Mr Bitzer and Mr Davidson out for a late supper — before I shot one of theht this scene” Davidson had joked that tossing spare actors off the roof carrying caeneral direction of the life net would be easier than faking a foggy night scene in the studio, while providing bigger thrills for the exhibitors

“What if we painted the side of the ship a darker color?”

“I’m really sorry, Mrs Bell I can’t stay any later My husband is working the graveyard shift, and there’s no one to stay with the baby”

“Go Thanks for staying as long as you could I will figure it out See you at The Iron Horse in the ht The sooner we’re done, the sooner they can knock down this ship and put up our locoht, everyone Thank you all”

Rennegal, her assistant, and the stagehands and electricians trooped into the elevator, chorusing, “Good night, Mrs Bell”

The elevator hu her in a silence Marion paced the eot rid of the shter?