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Only one person in all the village knew that Lucyet Stevens wrote poetry. "Most time for the mail to be gittin' heavy," said Truman, as he handed over the limp receptacle; "the summer boarders'll be along now, before long." "Yes, I s'pose they will," answered Lucyet, her fingers trembling as they unlocked the bag. "It's a backward season, though," he went on, watching her.
She's too plaguy fine, that's the trouble with her. She's so afraid her boarders'll starve that she forgets all about makin' money. She's the best woman there is in the world, but she needs a mean partner. Then the two of them might average up all right, I guess." Captain Obed rubbed his chin. "Think she needs a business manager, eh?" he observed. Imogene nodded emphatically.
"My boarders'll be coming to dinner in a few minutes." Warham took his straw hat from the floor beside the chair behind him. "I've nothing to do with this girl here. Good day, madam." And he strode out of the house, slamming the door behind him. Mrs. Wylie looked at Susan with storming face and bosom. Susan did not see. She was gazing into space, her face blanched. "Clear out!" cried Mrs. Wylie.
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