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"There is no necessity to congratulate me at all," replied the other, coloring. "I knew that it would not be wise to let him out of sight after I saw the devil-stick in his possession. And as to my courage," she added carelessly, "the poor old creature is so feeble that even I, a woman, could overpower him. But ring the bell, major, and have him in. I may be wrong. He may be innocent, but if you force him to confess how he obtained possession of the devil-stick you may get at the truth, and perhaps at the name of the murderer.",

Elinor paused in her hair brushing, and sank down on the stool, absently propping her chin on her brush.,

"Well, sir, when I brought a message from Dr. Etwald 'bout that devil-stick--",

"That is no matter," replied her mother, coldly. "You must marry him."

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"Oh, I hope it happens next summer, when we're home!" she cried. "I've always been perfectly crazy to know an engaged couple and I never have—except Mr. Bingham and Miss Auborn, and they weren't so very interesting anyway.",

"I hope you don't hate me?" said Maurice, rather annoyed.,

Patricia held Judith close, with her own heart beating tumultuously to the rhythm of the storm. Hard rattling drops castinetted at the glass, beating an accompaniment to the roar of the racing clouds. For a moment all was black, then, as the whirling cloud masses swept apart, the pelting drops lulled and a gray twilight full of ominous murmurs filled the place. Before Patricia could frame the swift thought that the storm was passing, darkness swept over them again, and the fierce scream of the relentless wind tore at the corners of the barn. The rain beat, deluged, engulfed the out-of-doors; it drummed gayly with diminishing ferocity; then it roared sullenly, flooding the rain spouts to bursting; it raged again, with the scream of the wind growing higher, and snapping branches flung themselves past the gray squares of the windows, flying leaves pasted wet green blurs on the streaming glass. Judith shuddered.,

I don't think I ever saw my house look so lovely before. Mrs. Johnson had put all the flowers out of hers and Mrs. Cain's garden all over everything, and the table was a mass of soft pink roses that were shedding perfume and nodding at one another in their most society manner. There is no glimmer in the world like that which comes from really old polished silver and rosewood and mahogany, and one's great-great-grandmother's hand-woven linen feels like Oriental silk across one's knees.