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"Dokter," screeched a portly Tante in a soiled cotton bedgown and flapping kappje, appearing, copper stewpan in hand, from between the canvas tilt-curtains of a living-waggon. "You are come at last; the Lord be thanked for it! I have much, much trouble inside." She groaned, and laid her fat, unoccupied hand upon the afflicted area, adding: "I feel I shall not be quite wholesome here."
"Wat scheelt er aan, Tante?" He spoke the Taal with ease. The large Tante snorted: "What is the matter? Do you ask me what is the matter? As if a dokter oughtn't to tell me that! But the Engelsch are regular devils for asking questions. Since you must know, I have a mighty wallowing under my apron-band, and therewith a pain. How is it begun? It is begun since middageten yesterday.
"Gome, gome," insisted Mr. Sieppe, moving toward the door. "Goot-py, Trina," exclaimed Mrs. Sieppe, crying harder than ever. "Doktor where is der doktor Doktor, pe goot to her, eh? pe vairy goot, eh, won't you? Zum day, Dokter, you vill haf a daughter, den you know berhaps how I feel, yes." They were standing at the door by this time. Mr.
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