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I'm just going to say my prayers, and hop into bed." "Mama won't like it if you don't brush your hair. I shall tell her if you don't, Deda." "Tell her, then!" Deda challenged, and hurried into her nightgown, and flung herself on her knees by the side of her bed, and hid her face in her hands, preparatory to making her devotions. A soft tapping on the door before it opened, and Mrs.
By Deleah's plate a letter was lying. A letter at which she looked dubiously, shrinking a little from opening it; for it was addressed, in a fashion which had become embarrassingly familiar to her, in carefully printed characters. "It's money, this time, we think," Franky cried, jumping in his chair. "Make haste, Deda." "We're simply dying to know what he's sent you. How slow you are!"
"A man who could not get at Miss Deleah to say things to her might try to say them so." "And you think Mr. Boult wants to say things to Deleah?" a scornful Bessie demanded. "No, I don't, since you ask me. No, Miss Bessie." "I should think not! And why, pray, should he have pitched on Deda?" "Oh, why should any one pitch on me?"
"Oh, Bessie, my poor girl, God knows I care!" the mother said. "But what can I say? It is done; what can I say?" "Say s-s-omething! Don't sit there!" Bessie sobbed. "Deda might sew up my glove, instead of s-s-sitting there." Deleah had already found needle and cotton. "Take your glove off, Bessie." Bessie tried to tear it from her hand. Her tears fell on the white kid. "It is tight.
"I don't see why Deda need be so affected and silly, mama." "Oh, do let me get some supper first," Deleah prayed. "Thank you, Mr. Gibbon. Some beef, please." Those prominent, burning eyes of the boarder, the eyes which Mrs. Day and Bessie had discovered rescued his face from the commonplace, were upon her face, with a desperately eager questioning.
Calm all yourselves." "But how can we? Out with it, darling." "It's nothing, mama." "Nothing?" "Only an idea of mine." "Something you've been and made up, Deda!" "Something I'm as sure of, Bessie, as I am that you're always dying to find fault with me. Thank you, Mr. Gibbon, I've got three pieces of bread already, look!" "You've handed Deleah bread three times in as many minutes, Mr. Gibbon."
At the window was Bessie's face. Bessie's excited voice was heard shrilly calling on Deleah's name. "Deda! Deda! Where on earth have you got to?" "Miss Days' carriage stops the way" the cry which made one Miss Day long to hide her minished head in the earth woke the echoes again.
She pinched it unconsciously but with such painful emphasis that in the morning Deleah discovered the place to be black and blue. "There he is! Quite close to us! Now perhaps you will believe! I always knew it was he who sent the tickets, and sent all the flowers and things! and he sent them for me only you always took them to yourself, Deda."
"You haven't told Deda!" she cried accusingly. "She hasn't told you! Mama is going to marry Mr. Boult, Deleah." "To marry him!" Deleah cried, as if she might have cried "to murder him!" and sprang from her chair to stand before her mother. "Mama! Mama!" Mrs.
The first word he uttered was, "I'm at war with Haj Ibrahim." "Ah," I replied, "you must cut his throat, he's a great rascal." Hateetah dropped his complaint at once, and observed, "Patience; all the Touaricks leave here to-morrow to go against the Shânbah, I only shall remain to go with you." He informed me the place of rendezvous is Dēdā, or Dēdē, three or four days westward from Ghat.
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