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Updated: June 14, 2025
This morning, just after I came down there were only my Aunt Kezia, Mr Keith, Flora, and me in the dining-parlour we suddenly heard the great bell of Brocklebank Church begin to toll. My Aunt Kezia set down the chocolate-pot. "It must be somebody who has died suddenly, poor soul!" cried she. "Maybe, Ellen Armathwaite's baby: it looked very bad when I saw it last, on Thursday. Hark!"
A pocket-mirror, or sprunking-glass, as it was then termed, lay on a side-table, and near it stood an embossed silver chocolate-pot, and a small porcelain cup with a golden spoon inside it, showing what the lady's last repast had been.
Ellen, dear, run into the kitchen and ask Margery to bring me the little chocolate-pot and a pitcher of night's milk." Margery brought them. The pot was set on the coals, and Alice had cut up the chocolate that it might melt the quicker. Ellen watched it with great interest till it was melted, and the boiling water stirred in, and the whole was simmering quietly on the coals. "Is it done now?"
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