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A space was hurriedly cleared at the other end of the table, a chair placed and Patricia saw Elinor, blushing and protesting, thrust into it by a dozen laughing students. "Is dere poison in de bag, white man?" "Nor I," said Isabella. "The major is a kind man, and he wants to see me happy. He is--".
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"Why, it's like a laundry," exclaimed Patricia in disappointment as she looked about her. The low-ceiled whitewashed apartment into which they had descended from the winding iron stair was sepulchrally bare and empty in the flicker of its noisy gas jets, the rusty gas stoves at its farther end emphasizing its general air of desolation. "Oh, I wish you wouldn't, Norn," protested Patricia, in a small voice. "I do so want to have her for a friend. She's so lovely and talented and attractive. What is the matter with her now that you say such things? You didn't use to feel like that." The sensation caused by the news that the dead body of Maurice Alymer had been stolen was even greater than that occasioned by the discovery of the murder. Even the London papers took up the matter, and sent down reporters to make investigations and build up theories as to the reason of this strange disappearance. Everywhere people were talking of the matter, and giving their opinions as to the proper course to be pursued in recovering the corpse. Would-be detectives haunted the roads and lanes around "Ashantee"; they would have penetrated into the park itself but for the vigilance of Major Jen. "I ain't a fool, sir," said the tramp, with a sheepish grin. "I should, you bet.".
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