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Walcott, Earle Ashley, 1859-1931

"Blindfolded"


"Come in," I said, unlocking the door and lighting up my room. "You can
be as angry as you like in here, and it won't hurt anything."
Mother Borton stormed a bit, and then sullenly walked in and took a
chair. Silence fell on her as she crossed the threshold, but she
glowered on us with fierce eyes.
"It's quite an agreeable surprise to see you," I ventured as cheerfully
as I could, as she made no move to speak. My followers looked awkward
and uncomfortable.
At the sound of my voice, Mother Borton's bent brows relaxed a little.
"If you'd send these fellows out, I reckon we could talk a bit better,"
she said sourly.
"Certainly. Just wait in the hall, boys; and close the door."
Porter and Barkhouse ambled out, and Mother Borton gave her chair a
hitch that brought us face to face.
"You ain't so bad off here," she said, looking around critically. "Can
any one git in them winders?"
I explained that the west window might be entered from the rear
stairway by the aid of the heavy shutter, if it were swung back and the
window were open. I added that we kept it closed and secured.
"And you say there's a thirty-foot drop from this winder?" she
inquired, pointing to the north.
I described the outlook on the alley.
She nodded as if satisfied.
"I reckon you don't think I come on a visit of perliteness?" she said
sharply, after a brief silence.
I murmured something about being glad to entertain her at any time.
"Nonsense!" she sniffed.


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