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He broke off and eyed with dignified surprise a fine piece of wireless telegraphy between husband and wife. It appeared that Mr. Negget sent off a humorous message with his left eye, the right being for some reason closed, to which Mrs. Negget replied with a series of frowns and staccato shakes of the head, which her husband found easily translatable. Under the austere stare of Mr.
Bodfish hotly rebuked a suggestion of his niece's to sweep them up. "Seems to me," said the conscience-stricken Mr. Negget, feebly, "as they're rather large for a woman." "Mud cakes," said Mr. Bodfish, with his most professional manner; "a small boot would pick up a lot this weather." "So it would," said Mr.
Bodfish affected the widow visibly, but its effect on the ex-constable nearly upset the bread-pan. "But here," continued Mr. Negget, with another glance at the larder, "he might go on like that for years. He's a wunnerful shy man big, and gentle, and shy. He wanted Lizzie to ask you to tea yesterday." "Now, Mr. Negget," said the blushing widow. "Do be quiet."
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