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Betty gazed shyly at her inquisitor. Her brown eyes sparkled with the adventure of meeting a real live piannerist, as she called him. Dinner was over and Mr. Zalhambra stood before the fire in the drawing-room grate. Stooping to warm his large white hands over the flame, his hypnotic eyes reflected strangely the glow of the fire. He watched Nell Gordon as she sat stroking the flowing fair tresses of Betty. How sweet and dear they all were! How peaceful it looked in there,—too peaceful, clean, for a dirty, fighting brute like himself. What could he do? He shivered in the cold, and the pain in his eyes increased. Would he fall? Would they find him, have Doctor Carter, learn the disgraceful truth? If the world had looked dark that afternoon, it was now Egyptian blackness. “It’s that Jake. He’s sich an ornery animule,” explained the boy, thus shamelessly vilifying a patient and much enduring character..
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Conrad
“Are your going to church?” she asked, disappointment drawing her lips to a tremulous curve. “Bully for you, Ladybird. I’ve got a backer you see, sister.” “There isn’t any Maskey’s any more,” May Nell mourned; “just ashes and old irons where used to be such oceans of goodies in such beautiful boxes and dishes.” Thus interrogated, the boy who had caught but one fleeting word of the sentence, reddened, and shuffling his feet, said he’d “often rode a wild cayuse.”.
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