"I suppose he'll be on his feet any day now. " She departed reluctantly. “David Courtlaw!” she repeated. “I’ve tried to make words tell it. Then one old crone, short-sighted and shaky-handed, called Ann Veronica “dearie,” and made some remark, obscure and slangy, of which the spirit rather than the words penetrated to her understanding. She remembered Taber's hat. Ever since he came here, three months ago, he has been the life and soul of the place; and now the death warrant has arrived, instead of being cast down, as most men would be, and as all others are, he's gayer than ever. She looked at him mournfully. Like the Valades, I imagine. She was a trained being—trained by an implacable mother to one end. ‘You said?’ ‘Mrs Sindlesham, your great-aunt, miss. I never could. Wood, in indignant surprise. "Your enemy!" she returned imperfectly comprehending him.
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