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"Who lighted the lamp?" demanded Jen, sharply. "Jane," I said, looking past her head, "my health is not very good, and you can bring my breakfast to me in bed after this." Poor Mr. Carter always wanted breakfast on the stroke of seven. Jane has buried husbands. Also her mother is our washerwoman, and influenced by Aunt Adeline. Jane understands everything I say to her. After I had closed the door I heard a laugh that sounded like a war-whoop, and I smiled to myself. But that was before my martyrdom to this book had begun. I get up now! "Yes, sir, an' hawful female she is!".

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"I know no more than you do," said Isabella, with great despondency. "But now. Major Jen, you can understand my not speaking the truth at our last interview." "What does she want to see me about?" asked Jen, coldly. "I'm a horrid pig to forget," she whispered contritely. "Don't be cross, Frad dear; you know how sorry I am." CHAPTER XVII. THE STORY OF THE NIGHT..