"And she is not a
gossiping sort, either. She just minds her own business."
At this point Dora came over to the table where we sat. "Move
along!" he said, gaily. "Don't disturb us. I am telling Levinsky
what a bad girl you are. Run along."
She gave us a shy side-glance like those that had carried the first
germ of disquiet into my soul, and moved away
"No, she is no slob, thank God," he resumed. He boasted of her
tidiness and of the way she had picked up her English and learned
to read and spell, with little Lucy for her teacher. He depicted the
tenacity and unflagging ardor with which she had carried on her
mental pursuits ever since Lucy began to go to school. "Once she
makes up her mind to do something she will stick to it, even if the
world went under. That's the kind of woman she is. And she is no
mean, foxy thing, either. When she says something you may be
sure she means it, if I do say so. You ought to know her by this
time. Have you ever heard her say things that are not so? Or have
you heard her talk about the neighbors as other women-folk will
do? Have you, now? Just tell me," he pressed me
"Of course I have not," I answered, awkwardly.
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