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"Do get on, Miss Pat," urged Judith, folding her napkin. "I've got to get to school sometime this morning, you know." "The devil-stick!" gasped Jen, pointing a shaking finger at the wall. "The devil-stick!" "Dead!" wailed Isabella, catching at the word, "Maurice dead!".
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"Back to Barbadoes," replied Mrs. Dallas, with a sigh. "Yes, major, after what has taken place here, I can stay no longer in England. I shall sell my house and leave for the West Indies with my daughter within the month." "Oh, let me stay," urged Patricia. "You can read out loud, and I'll slip in bed here to keep warm. What part are you reading now?" "Do you mean Elizabeth March, who got the Tassel prize this year?" asked Patricia in surprise. "Why, I saw her last week at the exhibition and she was awfully prim looking." Mrs. Dallas was a large, fat and eminently lazy woman, who passed most of her time in knitting or sleeping or eating. Her husband had died before she had come to England, and it was the desire to preserve her daughter's health which had brought her so far from the sun-baked islands which her soul loved..
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