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The matron'll settle with ye good and plenty whin she gits toime!" Both girls tried to explain, and the frightened, excited Home children shouted in vain. Irish Bridget seized the resisting Lottie, thrust her forcibly out through the gate, and hustled poor Peace into the dark entry, in spite of her protests and frantic kicking. "I'm not Lottie, I'm not Lottie!" she wailed.
"I don't b'long here, I tell you!" "I don't care if ye're Lottie or Lillie," screamed the angry cook, pinioning the struggling child and carrying her bodily up a short flight of stairs into a wide hall. "Ye've been breaking the rules by fightin' and in that room ye go! The matron'll settle with ye afther a bit. An' ye'll catch it good, too, if ye kape on screeching loike that."
"Held for Night Court trial. Lock her up, Officer." Blackness closed over the girl's brain. She thought she was going into hysterics. Her one thought was that she must get help, that she must reach some one who knew her. She burst out: "I want to telephone." "To who?" "Mr. Blaine Mr. Blaine!" "West Tenth Street feller?" "Yes." The sergeant winked to the policeman. "Oh, the matron'll see to that!
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