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"Do not ever speak to me like that again," says Mona, turning upon him eyes humid with disappointment, yet free from wrath of any kind. "As for Mr. Moore," with a curl of her short upper lip that it does him good to see, and a quick frown, "why, he is as old as the hills, and as fat as Tichborne, and he hasn't got a single hair on his head!" He takes little trouble about anything, certainly none to make himself popular, yet in all the countryside no man is so well beloved as he is. It is true that a kindly word here, or a smile in the right place, does more to make a man a social idol than substantial deeds of charity doled out by an unsympathetic hand. This may be unjust; it is certainly beyond dispute the fact. Of this Mona is glad. She has no desire to converse with him, and is just congratulating herself upon her good fortune in that he declines to speak with her, when he breaks the welcome silence..
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There was a young man named Mīka´pi. Every morning when he awoke he heard the mourning of these poor widows, and all through the day he could not forget their sorrow. He pitied them. One day he sent his mother to them, to tell them that he wished to speak with them. When they had come to the lodge they entered and sat down close by the doorway and covered their heads. "Come in for a little while and rest yourself," says Mona, hospitably, "while I get the brandy and send it up to poor Kitty." "She is not a lady," says Lady Rodney, as though that should terminate the argument. "But why?" says Mona, trying to read his face. "Am I so different from other people?".
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