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Updated: June 29, 2025
"I wouldn't give a dog I liked to that Blewett woman," said Matthew with unusual vim. "I don't fancy her style myself," admitted Marilla, "but it's that or keeping her ourselves, Matthew. And since you seem to want her, I suppose I'm willing or have to be. I've been thinking over the idea until I've got kind of used to it. It seems a sort of duty.
His blue eyes flashed ominously, straight into Mrs. Blewett's straggling, ferrety gray orbs. "If you're said your say, Martha Blewett, you can go," he said passionately. "I'm not going to listen to another such word. Take yourself out of my sight, and your malicious tongue out of my hearing!" Mrs.
If we make up our mind not to keep her we'll bring or send her over to you tomorrow night. If we don't you may know that she is going to stay with us. Will that suit you, Mrs. Blewett?" "I suppose it'll have to," said Mrs. Blewett ungraciously. During Marilla's speech a sunrise had been dawning on Anne's face.
Boltwood put in. "Hope you lose that dreadful red-headed person." "No, I can't, Mr. Boltwood. When Mr. Saxton turned on me, I swore I'd take Pinky clear through to Blewett Pass ... though not to Seattle, by golly!" "Foolish oaths should be broken," Claire platitudinized.
Milt tried to bore him by driving at seven miles an hour. Pinky affectionately accepted this opportunity to study the strata of the hills. When they camped, that night, Pinky loved him like a brother, and was considering not stopping at Blewett Pass, to see his gold-mine and Dolores the lady-wife, but going clear on to Seattle with his playmate.
Rachel Lynde said "had actually managed to die at last after practicing at it for twenty years," and old Josiah Sloane, whom nobody knew in his coffin because he had his whiskers neatly trimmed, were all sleeping in the little graveyard behind the church. And Billy Andrews was married to Nettie Blewett! They "appeared out" that Sunday.
"YOUR daughter might," said Old Man Shaw, with more sarcasm than he had supposed he had possessed, "but Blossom won't." Mrs. Blewett shrugged her sharp shoulders. "Maybe not. It's to be hoped not, for both your sakes, I'm sure. But I'd be worried if 'twas me.
Peter Blewett was up here yesterday, and she was saying to me how much she wished she'd sent by me for a little girl to help her. Mrs. Peter has a large family, you know, and she finds it hard to get help. Anne will be the very girl for you. I call it positively providential." Marilla did not look as if she thought Providence had much to do with the matter.
"And your house, too," pursued Mrs. Blewett ruthlessly. "It's such a queer, little, old place. What'll she think of it after her aunt's? I've heard tell Mrs. Adair lives in a perfect palace. I'll just warn you kindly that Sary'll probably look down on you, and you might as well be prepared for it.
Old Giles Blewett found her there in the morning. There was a smile on her face. Eben Bell came in with an armful of wood and banged it cheerfully down in the box behind the glowing Waterloo stove, which was coloring the heart of the little kitchen's gloom with tremulous, rose-red whirls of light. "There, sis, that's the last chore on my list. Bob's milking.
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