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"Do not stir," says Mona, hastily, pointing to the bloodhounds. Allspice has risen—so has the hair on his back—and is looking thunder-claps at Paul. A low growl breaks from him. He is plainly bent upon reducing to reason whosoever shall dispute the will of his beloved mistress. "The dogs know their orders, and will obey me. Down, Allspice, down. You will do well, sir, to remain exactly where you are," continues Mona. "She was never a child: she was born quite grown up. But the ancient Britons had not come into favor at that time: so she was a degree more tolerable. Bless me," says Mr. Darling, with sudden animation, "what horrid times I put in there. The rooms were ghastly enough to freeze the blood in one's veins, and no candles would light 'em. The beds were all four-posters, with heavy curtains round them, so high that one had to get a small ladder to mount into bed. I remember one time—it was during harvest, and the mowers were about—I suggested to Lord Daintree he should get the men in to mow down the beds; but no one took any notice of my proposal, so it fell to the ground. I was frightened to death, and indeed was more in awe of the four-posters than of the old man, who wasn't perhaps half bad." "My dear mother, you forget the path leading from the southern gate to Plumston Road has been open to the public for generations. He was at perfect liberty to walk there.".

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The duchess, on the contrary, gives way to mirth, and, leaning back in her chair, laughs softly but with evident enjoyment. Mona contemplates her curiously, pensively. "Well, really!" says Mona, mistaking him. She moves back with a heightened color, disengages her hands from his and frowns slightly. "There, do go away!" says this woodland goddess. "I am sick of you and your stupidity." "Oh, Mona, do go—do," entreats Doatie, who is in tears. "Poor, poor fellow! I wish now I had not been so rude to him.".