She knew the story only imperfectly, and followed it now with a passionate and deepening interest. She did not forge a note. “Lady Ferringhall, sir. That she possessed any sense of humour was in itself one of those human miracles which metaphysicians are always pothering over without arriving anywhere; for her previous environment had been particularly humourless. Smith had never seen anything like it. Stanley, having pretended to linger to smoke, fled suddenly up-stairs to petrography, and when Veronica tapped he answered through the locked door, “Go away, Vee! I’m busy,” and made a lapidary’s wheel buzz loudly. She wasn’t sure of herself when she said it. All this while he was arranging the medicines on the stand and jotting down his instructions on a chart sheet. Raymond Plote would only be missed by his mother. At sight of his wan features, she forgot the urgency of her need for a moment, and fell to her knees at his bedside, placing her hands on his slack ones where they lay on the soiled coverlet.
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