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“My father didn’t let my mother work when he was alive; but he—he died.” Billy bent lower over his weeding, and both were quiet. He roused himself sharply; found his handkerchief and rubbed his eyes a little clearer; bent swiftly over Jimmy, who stirred when touched, and, to Billy’s intense relief, spoke. It quickly occurred to him to run around and climb up there by the coop. Perhaps he could see into the windows—perhaps see— He didn’t wait to finish his thought, but scrambled frantically up the steep and came around to the top of the wall. The window opposite and level with him was bare but not as dirty as the others; and against it he saw a bed-post. Anyway that room was used by some one besides ghosts, he thought; and wondered what to do next. Just then Bouncer sprang up and gave a single short bark, his bark of greeting..
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“He didn’t come roun’ here, I kin tell you though,” joined in Mrs. Wopp, energetically. In speaking of Mr. Zelamba, her voice modulated harshly into a key of hyper-acidulated sharps. “I says to Miss Gordon, an’ she jined in with me, a piannerist may be well ’nough as an actor man, but when it comes to takin’ fer keeps, give me a real man.” After taking a deep breath she continued, “My, but he makes a heap of money an’ he loves it, too; but when he gits to be about forty, the lines in his fiz’ll be as tight as my clothes-rope arter a spell of rain.” Mrs. Wopp rose from her chair and seating herself on the sofa beside her husband took his thin hand in her substantial one, squeezing it openly. “Yes, Mosey, I jist want to go to my mornin’-glory garding to tell it good-night.” She rubbed her sleepy tear-stained eyes. “They’re great frauds, those aristocratic cats of sister’s,” Billy explained; “not a bit of use. They won’t fight, and—”.
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