When J r me Lafirme died, his neighbors awaited the results of his sudden taking off withindolent watchfulness. It was a matter of unusual interest to them that a plantation of fourthousand acres had been left unincumbered to the disposal of a handsome, inconsolable, childless Creole widow of thirty. A b tise of some sort might safely be looked for. But timepassing, the anticipated folly failed to reveal itself; and the only wonder was that Th r seLafirme so successfully followed the methods of her departed husband.Of course Th r se had wanted to die with her J r me, feeling that life without him heldnothing that could reconcile her to its further endurance. For days she lived alone with hergrief; shutting out the appeals that came to her from the demoralized "hands," andunmindful of the disorder that gathered about her. Till Uncle Hiram came one day with arespectful tender of sympathy, offered in the guise of a reckless misquoting of Scripture-and with a grievance.
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