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"Missa Tho'ne letta all a-ready fo' mail I putta pos'age-stamp, gifa to shif'-boss. I think Sa' F'a'cisco in a mo'ning. I care fo' everything!" "Ito cares for everything," Mr. Thorne quoted, in answer to his wife's haggard inquiries. "He stamped your letter and sent it to town yesterday by one of the day-shift men." "Now what shall be done!" Mrs. Thorne exclaimed tragically.
"The usual time, Ito," came the answer; "make no difference for me." "Lika tea coffee after dinna?" "Tea iced. Have you some now? Oh, bring it, please!" After an interval: "Has Mr. Thorne been pretty well?" "I think." "It is very hot. How is your kitchen any better than it was?" "Missa Tho'ne fixa more screen; all open now, thank you." "Take these things into my dressing-room.
He does not expect me. You will tell him at once, please?" "Yes, ma'am." The curtain was fastened again from inside. A woman's step went restlessly up and down, up and down the long piazza floors, now muffled on a rug, now light on a matting, or distinct on the bare boards. Later a soft Oriental voice inquired, "Wha' time Missa Tho'ne wanta dinna?"
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