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"Oh, I'm glad you've come!" he panted. He was no larger than a canary; and seemed to be brown a sparrow-brown. Prejudiced against him she had been. He had tattled about her worse, about her father. Yet seeing him now, so tiny and ruffled and frightened, she liked him. She brought him to a level with her eyes. "What's the matter?" she asked soothingly. "I'm afraid."
But there was his sparrow-brown hair, clipped close into the nape of his red-brown neck. If only Mamma wouldn't cry like that "Mark " "Is that Minky?" They held each other and let go in one tick of the clock, but she had stood a long time seeing his eyes arrested in their rush of recognition. Disappointed. The square dinner-table stretched itself into an immense white space between her and Mark.
She shut her eyes and it slid forward on to the darkness, the strong body, the brave, straight up and down face, the steady, light brown eyes, shining; the firm, sweet mouth; the sparrow-brown hair with feathery golden tips. She could hear Mark's voice calling to her: "Minx! Minky!" And there was something that Mamma said. It was unkind to be afraid of the poor dead people.
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