"I knew how it would be," she cried, in the shrill voice peculiar to a shrew, "when you brought that worthless hussy's worthless brat into the house. The blouse dried nicely, it would only need a touch of starch and a little ironing. " "Peace!" cried the knight, fiercely. ’ He glanced at the captain. He did not explain what had happened to her. Her time and effort was justly rewarded, because the hard cold facts she knew about neighborhood intrigues were better than fictional soap operas. There was a strip of old rose brocade in the making that set an ache in the girl's heart for the want of it.
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