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"Dido!" cried Isabella. "You did not run away?" "No, missy. I tell de truth against dat man." He started at the beginning of everything, that is at the beginning of the tuberculosis girl, and I cried over the pages of her as if she had been my own sister. At the tenth page we buried her and took up Alfred, and I must say I saw a new Alfred in the judge's bouquet-strewn appreciation of him, but I didn't want him as bad as I had the day before, when I read his own new and old letters, and cried over his old photographs. I suppose that was the result of some of what the judge manages the juries with. He'd be apt to use it on a woman, and she wouldn't find out about it until it was too late to be anything but mad. Still when he began on me at page sixteen I felt a little better, though I didn't know myself any better than I did Alfred when I got to page twenty. No, nobody would blame me for running right across the garden to Dr. John with such a real trouble as that! All of a sudden I hugged the letter and the little book and laughed until the tears ran down my cheeks..

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The very worst page in this red book is the fifth. It says— Patricia grinned. "You two geniuses understand each other, I see. Might a humdrum mortal remind you that David is just about sliding into the train shed at this moment?" "Lost! Stolen, you mean," growled Jen, tartly. "That negress--" "Dead!" shrieked Mrs. Dallas, all her superstition roused by the word. "Come away from that man, Isabella.".