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As she moved nearer she gave a start of surprise. The lights in the night-life room were out. The transom showed black and empty above the massive folded doors. Griffin nodded. "Tabby March, you know. The young woman who paints pussies. Used to go here three years ago, before she'd arrived. She was a wild one, I can tell you." "Well," said Jen, growing weary of this long-continued conversation, which seemed to lead to nothing, "at all events you'll not escape a long term of imprisonment.".

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Miss Jinny nodded. "She'd work her to death, anyway," she agreed. "She's mighty inhuman under her soft outside. Her help don't hear much of her purry ways, I can tell you. That's why they're always leaving. No, Mrs. Hand won't do." She sighed in perplexity. "I wish we were well enough off to keep her ourselves. I've taken a liking to her quiet ways, and I'd enjoy having her about, I'm sure. Most country girls are so loud and clumping that I've never wanted help before, but she's mighty different." "Hallelujah! It's the fee!" cried Griffin, with a green and gold packet in her hands. "Hurrah for Kendall Major! She's the stuff!" The two young people looked steadfastly at the brilliantly-colored figure of the negress, standing in a statuesque attitude near the great iron gate. On either side of her waved the summer foliage of the trees; overhead the sun, like a burning eye, looked down from a cloudless sky, and beyond, the dusty white road showed distinctly through the slender bars of the gate. All was bright and cheerful and English, but in that sinister red figure, with its black face and hands, there was a suggestion of evil which seemed to dominate and poison the whole beautiful scene. Maurice felt Isabella shudder with nervous dread as she pressed closely to his side. "I fancy it is.".