Tryphena and Tryphosa were
both up; and into their hands Rufus consigned the dripping habiliments
of their two admirers as well as his own, his fraternal relation
allowing him to appear before the ladies of the kitchen in a long white
garment with frills that had never been constructed for a man. "Guess it
ain't the last time you'll have to dry them clothes, gals," said the
sportive Rufus, skipping along in his frilled surplice, when Tryphena
chased him out of the apartment with a sounding smack between the
shoulders. Tryphena hesitated to send the mad woman into the room in
which Serlizer was sleeping, not knowing the nature of their relations
at the Select Encampment. Matilda, however, evidenced no intention of
retiring, or feeling of drowsiness. She talked, with the brightness and
cheerfulness of other days, and in a gentle, pleasant voice, but on
strange wild themes that terrified the two young women. Monty looked at
the fire and then at Tryphosa, saying: "I hain't a goin' to light no
more fires no more." "Why?" asked Tryphosa, and the answer came, which
revealed a genuine working of the intellect: "'Cos Sylvy says hit's
wicked.
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