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Updated: May 21, 2025
"I reckon you're a new relative, be n't you?" asked the lady guest, eyeing Dorothy closely. "I disremember seein' you before." "I am Mrs. Carr," repeated Dorothy, mechanically. "My husband, Harlan Carr, is Uncle Ebeneezer's nephew, and the house was left to him." "Do tell!" ejaculated the other. "I wouldn't have thought it of Ebeneezer. I'm Belinda Dodd, relict of Benjamin Dodd, deceased.
His weak blue eyes were sheltered by an enormous pair of spectacles, which he took off and wiped continually. He was smooth-shaven and his scanty hair was as white as the driven snow. Now, as he sat in Uncle Ebeneezer's parlour, he seemed utterly friendless and forlorn a complete failure of that pitiful type which never for a moment guesses that it has failed.
Just get me the pen an' ink an' some paper an' envelopes an' I'll set down right now an' write to the connection an' tell 'em that Ebeneezer's dead an' bein' of unsound mind at the last has willed the house to strangers who refuse to open their doors to the blood relations of poor dead Rebecca. That's all I can do an' I can't promise that it'll work.
Let us all agree to abide by dear Uncle Ebeneezer's last bequests." "There won't be no desire not to abide by 'em," snorted Mrs. Smithers, "wot with cats as can't stay buried and sheeted spectres of the dead a-walkin' through the house by night!" By this time, Mrs. Dodd had the box open, and a cry of astonishment broke from her lips.
In his panic he bolted the doors and windows of Uncle Ebeneezer's former retreat. It was unnecessary, however, for no one came near him. Throughout the long, sweet Spring afternoon, Miss St.
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