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Updated: June 7, 2025
As she again looked up she met the ardent gaze and ingratiating smile of an elegant young man who was sauntering up the train-platform to the exit gate, fastidiously apart from his fellow passengers. He raised his hat, and at the girl's curt nod of recognition, hastened through the gate for a more intimate greeting. "My dear Dodie!" he exclaimed, reaching for her hand.
"Dodie! You can't mean it!" "Can't I? You may pack yourself off and get a tailor to press your suit. He can do it better. Run along now. I'm going to make up to Mr. Blake for that waltz of yours that he wouldn't let me give to him." "You flirt!" cried Ashton, flushing crimson. "I believe your heart is made of petrified wood." "Then don't ask me to throw it at you. It might hurt your soft head."
You're the perfect brunette type, and you have all that verve you're so spirituelle. Just say 'yes' now, and let's have it over with. To-morrow I'll buy you the biggest solitaire in town." "Oh, Laffie! the biggest? You're too kind! I couldn't think of it!" she mocked. "But I mean it, Dodie, every word, indeed I do!" he insisted, ardently thrusting out an arm to embrace her.
I found Dodie lying in a draught, before an open window, gasping for breath. I ran back to Mrs. Albright's, I had found her much better to-day, and she let her nurse come over. The nurse says that Dodie is threatened with membranous croup." "Have you sent for Dr. Price?" "There was no one to send, the servants were gone, and the nurse was afraid to venture out into the street. I telephoned for Dr.
Lower and lower it sank, she was powerless to save it or to accompany it, until, gasping wildly for breath, it threw up its little hands and sank, the cruel water gurgling over its head, when she awoke with a start and a chill, and lay there trembling for several minutes before she heard little Dodie in his crib, breathing heavily.
Boswellister was almost babbling by the time the commander and his men battled their way to him. "You saw it all! You know!" Boswellister protested. "That Blond Terror and his harem darlings, and those violence-avid ruffians in the audience! Dodie, the stripper, with her lip-licking ogglers! That Calsobisidine pitchman, oozing allure and implied invitation! My equation!
Old Mammy Jane, still burdened by her fears, fervently prayed the good Lord to spare the life of the sweet little grandson of her dear old mistress. Dr. Burns had placed his ear to the child's chest, which had been bared for the incision. Dr. Price stood ready to administer the anaesthetic. Little Dodie looked up with a faint expression of wonder, as if dimly conscious of some unusual event.
Mammy Jane entertained a theory of her own about the accident, by which the blame was placed, in another way, exactly where Mrs. Carteret had laid it. Julia's daughter, Janet, had been looking intently toward the window just before little Dodie had sprung from Clara's arms. Might she not have cast the evil eye upon the baby, and sought thereby to draw him out of the window?
He sought to kiss her, but she eluded him coquettishly. "Wait, please. We must first settle the question. If it's a case of soul-mates, who's to be the captain?" "See here, Dodie," he admonished; "we've fooled long enough. I'm in earnest. You don't seem to realize this is a serious proposal." "Really?" she mocked. "A formal declaration of your most honorable intentions to make me Mrs.
Clara and the baby were laughing in great glee, when a mockingbird, perched on the topmost bough of a small tree opposite the nursery window, burst suddenly into song, with many a trill and quaver. Clara, with the child in her arms, sprang to the open window. "Sister Olivia," she cried, turning her face toward Mrs. Carteret, who at that moment entered the room, "come and look at Dodie."
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