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"Let us kill our husband," said the other: "then we can go back to our relations and have a good time." "Look at him, under that fern there!" exclaims Mona, in her clear treble, that has always something sweet and plaintive in it. "On your right—no! not on your left. Sure you know your right, don't you?" with a full, but unconscious, touch of scorn. "Hurry! hurry! or he will be gone again. Was there ever such a hateful bird! With his good food in the yard, and his warm house, and his mother crying for him! Ah! there you have him! No!—yes! no! He is gone again!" "Some fellows go away for months," says Geoffrey, still honestly bent on cheering her, but unfortunately going the wrong way to work..

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The morning wanes, and luncheon declares itself. When it has come to an end, Mona going slowly up the stairs to her own room is met there by one of the maids,—not her own,—who hands her a sealed note. "Why should I marry?" replied the girl. "My father and mother take care of me. Our lodge is good; the parfleches are never empty; there are plenty of tanned robes and soft furs for winter. Why trouble me, then?" "None; none. It would be useless to say otherwise. Internal hemorrhage has set in. A few hours, perhaps less, must end it. He knows it himself, poor boy!" "Thank you; so I shall, if you will come with me.".