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Updated: May 19, 2025
The night-robed girl looked for a moment more into Marguerite's eyes, then sank to her knees, buried her face in her hands, and wept. Marguerite laid her hands upon the bowed head and looked down with dry eyes. "No," she presently said again, "it is a headache. Go back to your bed.
Slawson had appeared in her own doorway, and was standing, night-robed and ghostly, listening attentively to the intermittent signs of distress. "It's that bloomin' Dutchman, Langbein, acrost the hall. Every time he goes on a toot, he comes back an' wallops his wife for it. Go to bed, Miss Claire, child, an' don't let it worry you. It ain't your funeral."
"Why, what is all this?" demanded Hiram, staring at the litter on the steps. "That man was a thief," explained Dave. "It looks that way, doesn't it? Hello!" Both boys stepped back and stared upwards. Over the porch was a second railed-in veranda. A night-robed figure had crossed it from some bed chamber fronting upon it. "Hey, you down there!
To read a little is not much, but maybe it may help her some day, and I have nothing more to give! Her chin sank upon her night-robed breast. After a moment she smiled deprecatingly at Mrs. Holmes and whispered: "You forgive me, other day? You see I Japan girl and just once I give big American kiss to my friend, Frank Sen."
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