"It's a distinct insult," began Dolly. "I disapprove—I disapprove.""Dear Janey, you always were the soul of sense," remarked Dorothy, in a somewhat languid voice. "For my part I pity those poor little mites, Violet and the rest of them. I know they are just as curious with regard to the issue of events as we are, and yet I can see them at this moment, with my mental vision, being driven like sheep into the fold. They'll be in bed, poor mites, when we are satisfying our curiosity.""The dogs?" asked Dorothy, interested in spite of herself.
The carriage lay smashed a couple of hundred yards from the gates of the avenue."I could not help myself," replied Dorothy. "You know, of course, Janet, what Bridget did last night?"
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Dorothy could not restrain her laughter.
The summer sounds came in to her, for the window of her dull room was open, the birds were twittering in the trees, innumerable doves were cooing; there was the gentle, soft whisper of the breeze, the cackling of motherly hens, the lowing of cows, and, far away beyond and over them, the insistent, ceaseless whisper of the gentle waves on the shore."She's not so bad at all," began Dorothy.
"If she had any strength, she'd be ashamed of her ignorance," retorted Janet.