"And your house, too," pursued Mrs. Blewett ruthlessly.
"It's such a queer, little, old place. What'll she think of it after
her aunt's? I've heard tell Mrs. Adair lives in a perfect palace.
I'll just warn you kindly that Sary'll probably look down on you,
and you might as well be prepared for it. Of course, I suppose
she kind of thinks she has to come back, seeing she promised
you so solemn she would. But I'm certain she doesn't want to,
and I don't blame her either."
Even Mrs. Blewett had to stop for breath, and Old Man Shaw found
his opportunity. He had listened, dazed and shrinking, as if she were
dealing him physical blows, but now a swift change swept over him.
His blue eyes flashed ominously, straight into Mrs. Blewett's straggling,
ferrety gray orbs.
"If you're said your say, Martha Blewett, you can go,"
he said passionately. "I'm not going to listen to another such word.
Take yourself out of my sight, and your malicious tongue out
of my hearing!"
Mrs. Blewett went, too dumfounded by such an unheard-of outburst
in mild Old Man Shaw to say a word of defence or attack.
When she had gone Old Man Shaw, the fire all faded from his eyes,
sank back on his bench. His delight was dead; his heart was
full of pain and bitterness.
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