The spinsters had purchased one grass-linen tablecloth; the girl and the young man had purchased nothing. “Dreadful women, my dear!” said Miss Stanley. The doleful procession at once assumed a festive character. It was apparent, and then it faded into the quality of an inevitable necessity. “Was he really?” She asked, waiting on baited breath. “Go on!” she commanded. The coconut plantation covered the west side. No matter. But, bloodan'-'ouns! man, if ould Nick himself were to hit me a blow, I'd be afther givin' him another. Even in her hatred, she began to realize that Sebastian’s intelligence was much greater than Gianfrancesco’s. . We’re regarded as inflammable litter that mustn’t be left about.
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