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"No. He found the devil-stick within the grounds of Mrs. Dallas, near the gates.",
"She's just as happy as a lark," said Miss Jinny to the others. "I was so scared for fear she'd hate town life, but, lands alive, she takes to it like a duck to water. I shouldn't wonder if it did her a lot of good. She's been uncommonly quiet recently, and I believe she's been missing you girls.",
"Oh," said Sarby, ironically; "and out of jealousy he stole the body?",
"After you left me, sir," he said in a weak voice, "I remained seated in my chair beside the bedside of my poor young master. If you remember there was only one candle in the room, which was placed on the table, some little distance away. I examined the window and found it closed."
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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.",
Lady Meg Brance was called by the prosecution to prove that a certain mendicant, by name Battersea, had offered her the devil-stick for sale as a curiosity. Knowing that it was the weapon with which Mr. Alymer had been killed--according to the reports which were current at the time--she had brought it to Major Jen, along with the tramp.,
"And when you recovered?",
"Read it for yourselves," she smiled, tossing the sheet across the table. "My time's about up. It's criticism morning in the portrait class, and I want to get a lot more done before Mr. Benton comes."
"I'd put John Moore at the head of the table if I were you, Molly Carter, because he's about the only man you've invited that has got any sense left since you and that Clinton girl took to going about Hillsboro. He's a host of steadiness in himself, and the way he ignores all you women, who would run after him if he would let you, shows what he is. He has my full confidence," and as she delivered herself of this judgment of Dr. John, Mrs. Johnson drove in all the corks tight and began to pound spice.
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"Mrs. Dallas. She had missed her daughter and had been seeking for her in a state of terror, surely natural under the circumstances. I found her pacing the veranda, wondering what had become of Isabella."
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Yes, Aunt Bettie is right about Dr. John; he doesn't see a woman, and there is no way to make him. What she had said about it made me realise that he had always been like that, and I told myself that there was no reason in the world why my heart should beat in my slippers on that account. Still I don't see why Ruth Clinton should have her head literally thrown against that stone wall, and I wish Aunt Bettie wouldn't. It seemed like a desecration even to try to match-make him, and it made me hot with indignation all over. I dug so fiercely at the roots of my phlox with a trowel I had picked up that they groaned so loud I could almost hear them. I felt as if I must operate on something. And it was in this mood that Alfred's letter found me.
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I am so happy that I planted my garden all crooked, my eyes upon the clouds with the birds sailing against them, and when I became conscious I found wicked flaunting poppies sprouted right up against the sweet modest clove-pinks, while the whole paper of bachelor's-buttons was sowed over everything—which I immediately began to dig right up again, blushing furiously to myself over the trowel, and glad that I had caught myself before they grew up to laugh in my face. However, I got that laugh anyway, and I might just as well have left them, for Billy ran to the gate and called Dr. John to come in and make Molly stop digging up his buttons. Billy claims everything in this garden, and he thought they would grow up into the kind of buttons you pop out of a gun.
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>"Mother's handkerchief, Dido," explained Isabella, interrupting. "The one you bound round my head."
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