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A dull yellow glow from the kerosene lamp, placed by Moses on the bureau, lighted up the figure of Betty reclining on snowy pillows. On one side of her was seated Howard, his arm about the drowsy child. On the side of the bed, squarely seated on one of Mrs. Wopp’s texts worked into the patchwork quilt, was Nell, watching the little pallid face and trying to avoid the eyes of her silent lover. “Moses,” she directed, “git an empty apple-box fer the burnt orfferin’s.” “Oh, I s’pose she can, only a fellow doesn’t expect it of her. How came you out here? I thought you’d be watching for refugees.”.
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Conrad
She made a quaint picture curled in a big chair under the window, where a lifted corner of the curtain gave light to the book, but left the rest of the room dark. It pleased her to play teacher. She asked Billy numberless questions, coaxed him to explain what she did not understand. And he soon learned that one must know a thing very well before he can tell it. He dictated some of the written work, and she transcribed it in her prim little script. “Glory must git better, nothin’s no fun no more,” blurted Moses. St. Elmo’s face brightened with intelligence. He broke into the story to give a graphic account of how a little yellow chicken of his sister’s had got “dwownded” in the pig-trough. “To the park!” Billy shouted, his heart thumping with joy..
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