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Tarkington, Booth, 1869-1946

"The Turmoil, a novel"

Gasping and
sobbing in a passion of tears, she beat the coverlet and pillows
with her clenched fists. "Sneak!" she babbled aloud. "Sneak!
Snake-in-the-grass! Cat!"
Bibbs saw that she did not know he was there, and he went softly
toward the door, hoping to get away before she became aware of him;
but some sound of his movement reached her, and she sat up, startled,
facing him.
"Bibbs! I thought I saw you go out awhile ago."
"Yes. I came back, though. I'm sorry--"
"Did you hear me quarreling with Sibyl?"
"Only what you said in the hall. You lie down again, Edith. I'm
going out."
"No; don't go." She applied a handkerchief to her eyes, emitted a
sob, and repeated her request. "Don't go. I don't mind you; you're
quiet, anyhow. Mamma's so fussy, and never gets anywhere. I don't
mind you at all, but I wish you'd sit down."
"All right." And he returned to his chair beside the trunk. "Go
ahead and cry all you want, Edith," he said. "No harm in that!"
"Sibyl told mamma--OH!" she began, choking. "Mary Vertrees had mamma
and Sibyl and I to tea, one afternoon two weeks or so ago, and she had
some women there that Sibyl's been crazy to get in with, and she just
laid herself out to make a hit with 'em, and she's been running after
'em ever since, and now she comes over here and says THEY say Bobby
Lamhorn is so bad that, even though they like his family, none of the
nice people in town would let him in their houses.


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