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"I'm going to," sighed Aunt Olivia, slipping away to her room. A strange little yearning was upon her to hunt up Rebecca Mary and call her darling and dear. But in her heart she knew she should not have the courage to do it. Here was another Plummer coward! "Why are some people made like me?" she thought "so it kills 'em to say anything anyways tenderish.
Somewhere out there Rebecca Mary was laughing in her subdued, sweet way. A cracked, shrill crow followed Thomas Jefferson was laughing too. Rebecca Mary was not dead. There was time to say a "tenderish" thing to her before she lay before that. Aunt Olivia shut her eyes resolutely to the vision that had intruded upon her musings.
"When they're dead, we're willing enough to say tenderish things to 'em," her musings ran. "We wish we HAD then. I suppose if Rebecca Mary was " She got no farther for the sudden horror that was upon her that sent her to her feet and to the door. But there she stopped in the blessed relief that drifted in to her on a child's laugh.
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