Grace Willet read the letter while lying upon her bed during the noon Rest Hour. “How awful, you poor darling, incarcerated in that lung place. How can you bear it? but, for the sake of others—of course. If (scratched out and when substituted) you do come out, you will have to be so frightfully…
Two little maids in scarlet, and very snowy as to caps and aprons, staggered onto the Circular Porch, one bearing a heavy tray. On it was an enormous “Brown Betty”, nests of cuddling cups, plates of thick bread and butter. The other maid was provided with a folding table. Tea…
“It’s a bad, mad, crazily brambled snarly place riddled with rabbit holes; it’s a bedlam of bird song. Nobody goes there; I just came upon it by chance. Here! I picked this posy for you there—all wild.” “I must see this place, Scrap, is it far?” “Too far for you.” “Tell me…
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