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"How in the world did you make up such an unearthly yodel?" demanded Elinor, preparing to descend from her chair of state. "I hope I'm not expected to answer in kind.",

How she became possessed of the Voodoo stone Dido refused to say. Jen had learned from Inspector Arkel that Etwald wore the talisman on his watch chain, and he wondered in what fashion Dido had contrived to penetrate into the prison and to obtain it from the doctor. The whole result of the trial depended upon the transfer of the stone. If Etwald kept it, Dido would not dare to give evidence against him, and so, in the absence of the incriminating details, he would go free. As it was, the stone was now in the possession of Dido, and for some reason, which Jen was unable to fathom, she was quite content to betray her share in the plot. By changing hands, the Voodoo stone had transformed Dido into a traitress.,

"Just look at that mournful creature." Patricia motioned with her eyebrows to the opposite side of the room, where a large, stout young woman in somber cloak and wide-plumed hat was eating her way through a chocolate éclair with just such an air of tragic and settled melancholy as one sometimes sees in a child whose grief is momentarily its most cherished possession.,

The major considered for a few moments before replying. There was a hinted mystery in the manner of Etwald which puzzled him not a little, and what this demeanor might mean he was anxious to learn. Moreover, he wished to know the actual facts of the case, and now that Dido had fled Etwald was the only one who could tell them. Acting upon these considerations, Jen sat down again in his chair and sulkily gave Etwald permission to remain and explain. This the doctor proceeded to do at once.

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What his real name was nobody knew, but he said that he was called Battersea, after the parish in which he had been reared as a foundling.,

Patricia gazed approvingly at the dim, shadowy study of graceful figures grouped in attentive attitudes about a reader in a landscape of suggested loveliness that spoke to any observer with delicate symbolism.,

"If she's going to be a writer, she'll drop her dignified pose soon enough," predicted Elinor easily. "She'll be too much interested in other people and things to remember herself too vividly.",

If Tom Pollard wasn't my own first cousin I would have loved him desperately, even if I am a week older than he. He was about the only oasis in my childhood's days, though I don't think anybody would think of calling him at all green. He never stopped coming to see me occasionally, and Mr. Carter liked him. He was the first man to notice the white ruche I sewed in the neck of my old black silk four or five months ago, and he let me see that he noticed it out of the corner of his eyes as we were coming out of church, under Aunt Adeline's very elbow.