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Updated: May 17, 2025
She was stirring something in a bowl. She did not turn her head when he came to the door. "Evenin', Molly," said Racey. "Good evening." Just that. "Uh. Yore ma around?" "She's gone to bed." Still the dark head was not raised. He misunderstood both her brevity and the following silence. He left his hat on the washbench outside the door and stepped into the kitchen.
Tone and business could not have been excelled by Peg Woffington herself. Racey went. "What's the matter?" queried a sleepy voice from the doorway giving into an inner room, as Racey's spurred heels jingled past the washbench. "What's goin' on? Who was here? What you yelling about, anyway?" "Racey was here, Ma," said Molly.
At the stair foot Swing gave over the chase and returned to the washbench to resume his face-washing. Racey went on into their room. There was in it several articles belonging to Swing that he intended to throw out of the window at once. But when he had entered the room and the door was closed behind him he did not touch any of Swing's belongings.
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