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Updated: May 9, 2025
A quick observer, looking attentively at Mrs. Slawson's face, could have seen something like a faint quiver disturb the firm lines of her lips and chin for a moment. A flash, and it was gone. "I'd give you the dog, an' welcome, Mr. Ronald," she said presently, "but I just can't do it.
A moment and an inner door was unlocked, flung open, and a voice from just within the grating of the closed iron area-gate asked curtly, "Well, what's wanted?" "Is this Mrs. ? I should say, is this the lady of the house?" Martha Slawson's voice was deep, bland, prepossessing. "I'm Mrs. Daggett, yes, if that's what you mean." "That's what I mean. My name's Slawson. Mrs.
They'll perfer to thump a machine o' their own, with twelve or fifteen per, comin' to 'em, rather than be the machine that's thumped, an' pay for the privilege out'n their own pockets besides." As fate would have it, the day went placidly by, in spite of Mr. Slawson's somber prognostications. No one came to disturb the even tenor of its way.
I couldn't make out much from Radcliffe's description, but apparently the dog is a pedigree animal." Mrs. Slawson's shoulders, in her sudden revulsion of feeling, shook with soundless mirth. "Pedigree animal!" she repeated. "Certaintly! Shoor, he's a pedigree animal. He's had auntsisters as far back as any other dog, an' that's a fack. What's the way they put it?
Claire, completely hidden from view behind Martha Slawson's heroic proportions, followed in her wake like a wee, foreshortened shadow as, at Mrs. Daggett's invitation, Mrs. Slawson passed through the area gateway into the malodorous basement hall, and so to the dingy dining-room beyond.
If she isn't " The accompanying gesture was eloquent. Mrs. Slawson's chair gave forth another whine of reproach as she settled down on it with a sort of inflexible determination that defied argument. "So that's your ultomato?" she inquired calmly. "No, not bag and baggage, Mrs.
"Do you know if any one else in the household had occasion to go into my rooms during the day?" "Of course I can't be pos'tive. But I don't think so, sir." "Then I wonder if this belongs to you?" He extended his hand toward her. In his palm lay a small, flat, gold locket. Something like the faintest possible electric shock passed up Mrs. Slawson's spine, and contracted the muscles about her mouth.
She was still pondering this, and some other things, when she felt Mrs. Slawson's hand on her shoulder. "It's over now, an' I'm goin' to take the young 'uns in, an' put 'em to bed. But don't you stir. Just you sit here a while in the moonlight, an' enjoy the quiet in peace by yourself. You done a hard day's work, an' you give me an' Sammy what we won't forget in a hurry.
We can afford to have childern, all right, all right. Then there's Mrs. Sherman She's got one boy, but he Radcliffe Sherman well, he's a limb! A reg'lar young villain. You couldn't manage him. Only Lord Ronald can manage Radcliffe Sherman, an' he " "Lord Ronald?" questioned Claire, when Mrs. Slawson's meditation threatened to become static. "Why, he's Mrs. Sherman's brother, Mr.
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