Seeming to feel that this statement called for explanation, he added, ‘I been working for the sisters six month, see. But I don't understand her; she's over my head. ” He examined the emerald in his hands and placed it carefully on the glass table. The funeral procession had now approached the grave, around which many of the congregation, who were deeply interested by the sad ceremonial, had gathered. One trouble, however, shot its slanting bolts athwart the shining warmth of that opening day and marred its perfection, and that was the thought of her father. “My hand! This isn’t the place. He talked very little and rather absently. Quite ordinary.
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