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Linda made a laughing remark about that being what she was paid for and barely stopped herself from approving with far too much enthusiasm when Mrs. Bates nodded and said, "I think I will go to bed now." |
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In the next moment, Linda was thoroughly ashamed when she saw Mrs. Bates's eyes wander to the general and Mrs. Sotheby, who were sitting on the sofa talking eagerly. Peter, who had been thoroughly inconsiderate of his aunt, could wait a few minutes more, she thought, and asked gently, "Would you like me to read to you for a while?" |
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"No, my dear, I'm tired. You are a good girl, Linda. I wish you were my daughter." |
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Linda clamped her teeth over the words that she might be as good as a daughter soon. She thought Mrs. Bates did look tired, and should not be exposed to any more emotional strain. But she really couldn't think of any other answer to such a remark, so she just squeezed her employer's hand gently. She had looked down and almost missed the quick glance Mrs. Bates cast at the door through which Peter had gone. Then the old lady's eyes returned to her, and she stared at Linda rather oddly. |
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"You have no parents," she murmured, her voice so low Linda had to strain to hear her. Clearly she was talking as much to herself as to Linda. "And I have no child." Her eyes flicked to the door to the writing room again. "Somethingsomething might be worked out . . . something . . . safe." |
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