"Yes." Silvy nodded her head several times as though we understood, we
two, and she was delighted to have discovered the fact.
Then her eyes wandered again to the fire, and she resumed her happy,
smiling conversation with herself.
I thought she had forgotten me, or concluded not to unlock anything with
her key, when she turned slowly and looked at me, and seemed to gather up
the lost train of her ideas in my face.
"Silvy watched the fishermen at Emily's," she went on. "They said, 'Poor
Silvy!' 'See you again next time, Silvy!' They are very p'lite, thank
you, and they laugh once. 'Ha! ha!' But David Rollin, he laughs twice.
'Ha! ha!' and behind his sleeve, too. Such things are damnable!"
Silvy's dulcet tones ran over that hard word with the mildest and softest
of accents.
"And they bring wine," she continued. "Silvy cl'ared off the table one
night. She heard 'em sing, and they says to him, 'What about pretty
Beck?' and he says 'We must have a little fun, you know, ha! ha!' and
then, 'ha! ha!' behind his sleeve. Now if Silvy could keep it all
together, you'd straighten it out maybe. Silvy can't straighten it out.
Where did she hear so much, I wonder! She hears too much, Silvy does.
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