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"'E 'asn't been near the place these two weeks and more," said the
plump woman.
"
"
"
"
But who is he?"
I suppose I got to tell you," said the plump woman.
She says he scoots people," Mr. Polly remarked after a pause.
He's my own sister's son." The plump woman watched the crackling fire
for a space. "I suppose I got to tell you," she repeated.
She softened towards tears. "I try not to think of it, and night and
day he's haunting me. I try not to think of it. I've been for
easy-going all my life. But I'm that worried and afraid, with death
and ruin threatened and evil all about me! I don't know what to do! My
own sister's son, and me a widow woman and 'elpless against his
doin's!"
She put down the sticks she held upon the fender, and felt for her
handkerchief. She began to sob and talk quickly.
"I wouldn't mind nothing else half so much if he'd leave that child
alone. But he goes talking to her--if I leave her a moment he's
talking to her, teaching her words and giving her ideas!"
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