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Updated: June 2, 2025
"Why do you speak of others? No others are interested in what I do? Why should they be? Why should you be? There is no need!" Mr. Dyceworthy grew slightly excited. He felt like a runner nearing the winning-post. "Oh, you wrong yourself, my dear Froeken," he murmured softly, with a sickly attempt at tenderness in his tone. "You really wrong yourself!
Britta was meditating, she looked lovingly at her mistress's rippling wealth of hair. "Diamonds!" she murmured to herself in a sort of satisfied soliloquy. "Diamonds, like those you have on your finger, Froeken, diamonds all scattered among your curls like dew-drops! And white satin, all shining, shining! people would take you for an angel!" Thelma laughed merrily. "Britta, Britta!
"Good-bye!" exclaimed Britta wonderingly. "Why, where are you going? One would think you were starting on a long journey. You speak so strangely, Froeken!" "Do I?" and Thelma smiled kindly. "It is because my head aches, I suppose. But it is not strange to say good-bye, Britta!" Britta caught her hand. "Where are you going?" she persisted. "To see some friends," responded Thelma quietly.
"She has always hated the Froeken, and been jealous of her always! Her own maid, Louise, will tell you so Lord Winsleigh's man, Briggs, will tell you so! They've listened at the doors, and they know all about it!" Britta made this statement with the most childlike candor.
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