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Rh Grier, made a snatch at my consciousness, followed by the chilling doubt as to whether she really was our new wash-lady or not, that Sally had implored me to try. She might even be a caller.

She was dressed in black, which is so noncommittal always, and her hat, though strictly unobstrusive, had really an air.

I approached negotiations with caution, using the weather as a preliminary medium. Her replies and manner were perfect. Her voice, low and essentially refined, had a rich modulation, unmistakably English, but without a stray h or misplaced accent, and her whole air conveyed just the right balance of responsiveness and reserve. I resolved on the plunge.

"You have come to see me about—a-about giving us some assistance?" I could not bring myself to say washing. It was too abrupt, and also too remote a contingency in the presence of this refined, well-bred lady.

But she met my overtures without hesitation, "I am experienced in laundry work."

My own eye faltered, if hers didn't. I pretended to read just a cushion and felt uncomfortably conscious after she had gone, that the