Puzzled Bostonians saw congregating last week on the triangular trottoir before Trinity Church, which faces on Copley Square opposite the Public Library, a group of silent men and womenfolk who had just darted warily across Boylston Street, who seemed to greet one another with ingenuous, unmasked pleasure, but who spoke no words. The attentive noted that these silent folk looked at each other with wide, quick-moving eyes which certainly observed everything, especially the queerly gesticulating fingers of their fellows, fingers that seemed to fly in fluid curves, hooks and angles, fingers that...
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