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"But what are you talking of?" broke in Jen, impetuously. "You say that my poor boy died from blood-poisoning. How else could he have come by that, save through being touched or struck with the devil-stick? No one in the neighborhood was likely to possess any weapon likely to corrupt the blood. If Maurice had been stabbed, or shot, or if his head had been smashed in, I could understand the crime--or rather the motive for the crime--better; but as it is, the person who stole the devil-stick must have killed him." "Prove!" retorted Jen sharply, "simply that it was dropped there by that black fiend after she had killed Maurice." "Time's up!" cried Patricia, jumping up. "Be on hand at the next rest, angel child. Come in the clay room 'immejit' the gong rings," and she hurried off, humming a gay little song..
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Elinor laughed helplessly. "I don't know what is the matter with my brain," she said in relieved contempt of her own confusion of mind. "Of course, it is ever so much easier. What a stupid I am not to see it for myself!" "Nobody taught it to me. Father sings it to me when Tilly, nurse, nor you aren't there to put me to bed. He don't know no good songs like 'Black-eyed Susan' or 'Little Boy Blue.' I go to sleep quick 'cause he makes me feel tired with his slow tune what's only good for frogs and things. Get a piece of cloth to tie over the top of the glass, Molly, quick!" "Never mind, my dear lady, you will later on," retorted Jen, with a nod. Then turning to Battersea, he resumed his examination. "You know the negress. Dido, who is in the employment of Mrs. Dallas?" he asked, mildly. Oh, Molly, Molly, is it for this you came into the world, twice to give yourself without love? What difference does it make that your arms are strong and white if they can't clasp him? Why are your eyes blue pools of love if they are not for his questioning?.
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