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The other Buster John and the other Sweetest Susan shook hands all round, and the other Drusilla made a curtsey to the company. Then, with a run and a jump, they plunged into the big looking-glass as you have seen youngsters plunge into a pond of water. "Ho!" cried Mr. Thimblefinger, "they jumped in with a splash, but they never made a ripple."
Our client, the late Elias Doane, left the bulk of his money to the many charities in which he is interested, but he left you his home at Brookvale, near New York City, to be kept up fittingly out of the estate, and he gave you outright, to use as you may see fit, one million dollars." Drusilla stared at him.
This is proved by a will made at the time of an illness which he contracted in the autumn of the first year of his rule. In this will he appointed Drusilla heir not only of his goods, but also of his empire, a wild folly from the point of view of Roman ideas, which did not admit women to the government; but it proves that Caligula had already thought and acted like an Egyptian king.
"Nothing is like our dreams," said Marion, and dropped her pen. "That's why I write. I can give my heroine all the bliss for which she yearns." Drusilla stood up. "You mustn't misunderstand me, Marion. I am very happy in the thought of my good friend, of my great lover. It is only that it hasn't quite measured up to what I expected." "Nothing measures up to what we expect."
Perhaps" she chuckled softly to herself "it's my second childhood." They came to the door, and it was opened by James stiff, correct, funereal. "No," almost groaned Drusilla; "there's James. Now I know I'm dead and only waitin' for the buryin'." Drusilla grew more and more to feel that she was a part of her little world, where everything revolved around her and her wishes were law.
"No, no," replied Mr. Thimblefinger. "Below the spring and below the branch." "Do you mean under the spring?" Sweetest Susan inquired, with some hesitation. "That's it," cried Mr. Thimblefinger. "Right down through the spring and under it." "Why, we'd drown," said Sweetest Susan. "The spring is deep." "Well, you'll ha' ter 'skuze me," exclaimed Drusilla. "Dat water's too wet fer me."
There had been a second of embarrassment when they were first left alone, which Drusilla got over by pointing with her parasol to an indistinguishable spot in the stretch of tree-tops, spires, and gables sloping from the gate, saying: "That's our house the one with the little white cupola." He made no pretense to listen or to look. "She says she doesn't want to marry me."
"That," said he, "is an emanation an exhalation, you might say that we frequently witness in our atmosphere." "A which?" asked Buster John. "Well," replied Mr. Thimblefinger, clearing his throat, "it's er an emanation." "Huh!" cried Drusilla, "'t ain't no kind er nation. It's des de milk leakin' out'n dat jug. I done tol' Aunt 'Cindy 'bout dat leakin' jug." Mr. Rabbit and Mrs.
"I think we will find my daughter inside." They entered a large hall and Drusilla stood hesitatingly, not knowing what to do. In a moment a voice was heard from above: "Is that you, Father?" and a laughing face peered over the railing, and was followed by a slim young figure that seemed to fly down the stairs. "Oh, you were such a long time, Father.
Drusilla, sitting before the fire, saw all these bitter years pass like shadows before her half-closed eyes; she saw the years of toil without the reward that is woman's right the love of children, husband, a home to call her own. And yet those years had left no scar upon her soul, no rancor against the world that had taken all and given nothing except the right to live.
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