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A strange scene presents itself to their expectant gaze. Before them is a large room (if so it can be called), possessed of no flooring but the bare brown earth that Mother Nature has supplied. To their right is a huge fireplace, where, upon the hearthstone, turf lies burning dimly, emitting the strong aromatic perfume that belongs to it. Near it crouches an old woman with her blue-checked apron thrown above her head, who rocks herself to and fro in silent grief, and with every long-drawn breath—that seems to break from her breast like a stormy wave upon a desert shore—brings her old withered palms together with a gesture indicative of despair. "If he's goin' to squat there for the night,—an' I see ivery prospect of it," says Mickey to himself,—"what on airth's goin' to become of me?" "Not clever," says Mona. "If I were clever I should not take for granted—as I always do—that what people say they must mean. I myself could not wear a double face.".
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To Jack his brothers are behaving with the utmost bonhommie. They have called him "old fellow" twice, and once Geoffrey has slapped him on the back with a heartiness well meant, and no doubt encouraging, but trying. Then he turns his head away again to let his eyes rest on Mona, as though nowhere else can peace or comfort be found. "I shall go," he says, doggedly, as though divining her secret wish. "How fortunate!" says that fat woman, with her broad expansive grin that leaves her all mouth, with no eyes or nose to speak of. "We hardly dared hope for such good luck this charming day.".
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