She would come and sit cross-legged just beyond the bamboo curtain and silently watch him at work. “Dinner is served, m’m,” said the efficient parlor-maid in the archway, and the worst was over. If you'd read your husband's dying speech, you'd know that he laid his death at Jonathan's door,—and with reason too, as I can testify. It was as if he could smell it on her. CHAPTER XXIII. If she could have held it in, perhaps the Virgin Mary would have sent her a miracle as reward for her strength.
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