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“It is horrid, but”—great searching first in one pocket of his trousers, then in the other—“but if you will please take this report back”— Here she was again. Bob paid no attention to this outburst, letting it go past his ears. Wesley’s voice from behind took up the refrain..

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Vincent was to be interred, according to his own desire, in the church belonging to the convent of St Nicholas. One of the servants, after receiving some necessary orders concerning the funeral, ventured to inform the marquis of the appearance of the lights in the south tower. He mentioned the superstitious reports that prevailed amongst the household, and complained that the servants would not cross the courts after it was dark. 'And who is he that has commissioned you with this story?' said the marquis, in a tone of displeasure; 'are the weak and ridiculous fancies of women and servants to be obtruded upon my notice? Away—appear no more before me, till you have learned to speak what it is proper for me to hear.' Robert withdrew abashed, and it was some time before any person ventured to renew the subject with the marquis. Oh, how horrid, how horrid everything was! Well, he wouldn’t go out any more today, that he wouldn’t; he would stay in his room with the door locked. He had been so delighted with his report, and now even that gave him no pleasure. Of course he couldn’t go to Uncle Isaac with it after this disgrace. “Yes,” answered Bob, “I have. I wanted to tell Mr. Whitney personally about it but as things are likely to happen right off, I think we’d better get busy without him.” "I am spinning, my pretty child," answered the old woman, who did not know who she was..