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"Well, I know that. And suppose there ain't.
Didn't Gracie Miller fall in the kitchen fire and burn
herself terrible the very next Saturday?"
"Yes, but she ain't DEAD. And what's more, she's
getting better, too."
"All right, you wait and see. She's a goner, just
as dead sure as Muff Potter's a goner. That's what
the niggers say, and they know all about these kind
of things, Huck."
Then they separated, cogitating. When Tom crept
in at his bedroom window the night was almost spent.
He undressed with excessive caution, and fell asleep
congratulating himself that nobody knew of his escapade.
He was not aware that the gently-snoring Sid
was awake, and had been so for an hour.
When Tom awoke, Sid was dressed and gone.
There was a late look in the light, a late sense in the
atmosphere. He was startled. Why had he not been
called -- persecuted till he was up, as usual? The
thought filled him with bodings. Within five minutes
he was dressed and down-stairs, feeling sore and
drowsy. The family were still at table, but they had
finished breakfast. There was no voice of rebuke;
but there were averted eyes; there was a silence and an
air of solemnity that struck a chill to the culprit's heart.
He sat down and tried to seem gay, but it was up-hill
work; it roused no smile, no response, and he lapsed
into silence and let his heart sink down to the depths.
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