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"It was some joke, of course?" goes on Violet, not having received any answer to her first question. "Oh, that I could believe so!" says Mona, forgetful of manners, courtesy, everything, but the desire to see those she loves restored to peace. "Partly," says Mona. "Not altogether: there was always a faint odor of pipes about Uncle Brian's room that does not belong to this.".
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Dorothy from her corner laughs gayly. "Poor old Noll," she says: "it was his unhappy childhood that blighted his later years and made him the melancholy object he is." In those days there were buffalo, and these black animals were armed, for they had long horns. Once, as the people were moving about, the buffalo saw them and rushed upon them and hooked them and killed them, and then ate them. One day, as the creator was travelling about, he came upon some of his children that he had made lying there dead, torn to pieces and partly eaten by the buffalo. When he saw this, he felt badly. He said, "I have not made these people right. I will change this; from now on the people shall eat the buffalo." Her companion is singularly silent. Scarce one word has escaped him since she first laid her hand upon his arm, and now again dumbness, or some hidden feeling, seals his lips. "No one can say we are not in time," says Jack, gayly. "It is exactly"—examining closely the ormolu-clock upon the mantelpiece—"one hour before we can reasonably expect dinner.".
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