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"No, I didn't really mean that," cried Elinor, repentantly. "It wasn't a bit like her teasing. Her's always has a good flavor." Patricia squeezed her hand surreptitiously. "You're so far up in the clouds these days that the commonplace side of life doesn't exist. You'll be all right after you get used to it," she soothed. "You're going to be pretty free to inhabit cloudland for this winter, and I'm willing to bet any reasonable amount that Hannah Ann will see to it that the housekeeping doesn't distract you next summer. She's perfectly crazy over your painting, since it's like Aunt Louise. And there won't be any boarders or any other money-making schemes this year to harrow our souls." "I can't say. He explained that he had been in the Barbadoes, and that he took a great interest in the subject of African fetish worship. He had heard of these 'wands of sleep,' as they are called, and greatly wished to obtain one, but he was unable to do so. Since seeing mine he has been seized with a desire to possess it.".

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Elinor was waiting for them, and Patricia could see that she was in a state of great agitation. She hurried to her, while her companion dropped behind to exchange notes with one of the men from the composition room. "Very good." Etwald walked toward the door, but there, struck by a sudden thought, he looked back. "Of course you will not tell Isabella that she killed Mr. Alymer?" he said, hurriedly. "What are you going to do with that lovely old shawl she brought you, Elinor?" she asked, tossing the end of her long braid over her shoulder and yawning luxuriantly. "I'd like to make a party dress of that heavenly silk cloak I got, but it seems like cutting up one's own grandmother." "I hope Miss Howes doesn't forget," she said apprehensively. "I'd so much rather go into the class with her.".