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Patricia expected Margaret Howes as she emerged to show some surprise or annoyance at this summary mode of speech, but she was as serene and unconscious as ever. Elinor blushed and shook her head. "Yes, and Mrs. Dallas knows more about it than is good for her.".
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Patricia's face grew wistful. "She went away when I was so little," she murmured absently. "Sometimes I do fancy that I can recall how she looked as she kissed me good-bye in the big station, but it must be only fancy—one doesn't remember much at two years old. I can see just how Judy looked though, when they brought her home after mother died, and I was only three and a half then." Suddenly a match flared and the twinkling tip of light grew at a candle end and she saw a ghostly figure, its white hand busy with the candle wick and its hollow, black eyes fixed on the tiny growing flame. Instantly other matches flickered and more candles glimmered in ghostly fingers, until the room was flashing with tiny points of light, while the masses of heavy shadow trembled and surged about an array of white-clad, mysterious, skull-faced figures that slowly formed in line and, two by two, moved to the center of the room, chanting a low, monotonous song as they walked in solemn procession. "It is not a woman, but a man. Battersea!" "What do you mean, Billy?" I asked, while a sudden fear shot all over me like lightning. "You're just playing go-away, aren't you?".
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