Say, but what ails
_you?_ You look sorter--sorter like a--strained relation or somethin'.
What you been doin' to yourself to get so white an' holler-eyed? What
kep' you so late?"
"I had a tussle with Radcliffe."
"Who won out?"
"I did, but it took me all day."
"Never mind. It'd been cheap at the price, if it had 'a' took you all
week. How come the madam to give you a free hand?"
"She was away."
"Anybody else know what was goin' on? Any of the fam'ly?"
"Yes, Mr. Ronald. He brought me home. I didn't want him to, but he did.
He just _made_ me let him, and--O, Martha--I can't bear--I can't bear--"
"You mean you can't bear _him?"_
Claire nodded, choking back her tears.
"Now, what do you think o' that!" ejaculated Mrs. Slawson pensively.
"An' he so _pop'lar_ with the ladies! Why, you'd oughter hear them
stylish lady-friends o' Mrs. Sherman praisin' 'm to her face. It'd make
you blush for their modesty, which they don't seem to have none, an'
that's a fac'. You can take it from me, you're the only one he ever come
in contract with, has such a hate on'm.
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