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Ah, that muz' bring some splandid news, that lett'r of Irbee, what you riscieve to-day and think I don't know it. 'T is maybe ab-out Kincaid's Batt'rie, eh?" At Flora's touch the speaker flinched back from the roof's edge, the maiden aiding the recoil. "Don't stand so near, like that," she said. "It temp' me to shove you over." They looked once more to the fleet. Slowly it came on.
Soon she cheerily whined again: "All day nothing but good luck, and at the end this!" But Flora kept silence. "So, now," said the aged one, "they will not make such a differenze, those old jewel'." "I will get them yet," murmured the girl. "You think? Me, I think no, you will never." No response. The tease pricked once more: "Ah! all that day I am thinking of that Irbee. I am glad for Irbee.
He is 'the man that waits, that Irbee!" The silent one winced; fiercely a piece of the shining ware was lifted high, but it sank again. The painted elder cringed. There may have been genuine peril, but the one hot sport in her fag end of a life was to play with this beautiful fire. She held the girl's eye with a look of frightened admiration, murmuring, "You are a merveilleuse!" "Possible?"
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