Hetty Wesley by Sir Arthur Thomas Quiller-Couch
page 108 of 327 (33%)
page 108 of 327 (33%)
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"Why, there's a choke here--dead leaves or something--and the
roof-water's running down the side of the house." She glanced hurriedly about the room, stepped to the fireplace and picked up a poker--a small one with a crook at the end. "Will this help?" she asked, passing it out. "Eh? the very thing!" He took it, and presently she heard it scraping on the pipe in search of the obstruction. "Cleared it, by Jingo! and that's famous." He lowered himself upon the flat of his broad soles. "You ought to ha' been a plumber's wife. My! if I had a headpiece like that to think for me--let alone to look at!" "Give me back the poker, please." "No tricks, now!" He handed it back, chuckled, and lowering himself back to the topmost rung of the ladder, stood in safety. "You're as white as a sheet. Was you scared I'd fall? Lord, I like to see you look like that! it a'most makes me want to do it again. Look here--" "For pity's sake--" Was the man mad? And how was it he held her listening to his intolerable talk? He was actually scrambling up to the sill again, but paused with his eyes on hers. "It hurts you? Very well, then, I won't: but I owe you something for that slap in the face, you know." "You deserved it!" Hetty exclaimed, flushing as she recoiled from terror to unreasonable wrath, and at the same moment hating herself for arguing with him. |
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