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O, I don’t know. The East or some such place. I’ve often heard people speak of it, and somehow it seemed so. . .
The East, John? Not the East. I don’t think the East somehow is quite respectable.
O well, it’s all right, I never went, and never shall go now. It doesn’t matter.
Mary [the photographs catching her eye]
O, John, I meant to tell you. Such a dreadful thing happened.
What, Mary?
Well, Liza was dusting the photographs, and when she came to Jane’s she says she hadn’t really begun to dust it, only looked at it, and it fell down, and that bit of glass is broken right out of it.
Ask her not to look at it so hard another time.
O, what do you mean, John?
Well, that’s how she broke it; she said so, and as I know you believe in Liza . . .
Well, I can’t think she’d tell a lie, John.
No, of course not. But she mustn’t look so hard another time.
And it’s poor little Jane’s photograph. She will feel it so.
O, that’s all right, we’ll get it mended.
Still, it’s a dreadful thing to have happened.
We’ll get it mended, and if Jane is unhappy about it she can have Alice’s frame. Alice is too young to notice it.
She isn’t, John. She’d notice it quick.
Well, George, then.
Mary [looking at photo thoughtfully]
Well, perhaps George might give up his frame.
Yes, tell Liza to change it. Why not make her do it now?
Not to-day, John. Not on a Sunday. She shall do it to-morrow by the time you get back from the office.
All right. It might have been worse.
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