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Updated: May 10, 2025
She see you through the spy-glass, an' Oliver'd gone to ketch the colt." "There's father," said Isabel steadily. "He's drivin' out the carriage-house now. You got the cake in the buggy?" "You do worry me 'most to death," said Mrs. Wilde. Her face had tied itself into a snarl of knots, from which the kindly eyes looked angrily. "Who you goin' with, Isabel?
"Can't hab dese yere young ladies spile dere clean frocks on Malachi's steps no, sah," he would say; "Marse Oliver'd r'ar an' pitch tur'ble." There were especial reasons this year for these extra touches of rag and brush. Malachi knew "de signs" too well to be deceived.
But she said you'd been down talkin' it over an' Oliver'd gone to ketch the colt. She offered me the spy-glass." Isabel's lips had a little line of white about them. She looked full at him now. "Did you take it, Jim?" "Take it? No!" he roared at her. "Do you think I'd do a thing like that?" They stood looking at each other, glance holding glance, their eyes blazing.
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