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Her memories of her old home had died away, and she was back in Sapps Court again, sympathizing with Dolly over an accident to Shockheaded Peter, the articulation of whose knee-joint had given way, causing his leg to come off promptly, from lack of integuments and tendons.
She remained, however, plain Sister Nora, without suspicion of any doubtful connections, until a scheme of a daring character took form nothing less than that Dave should be taken into the country for change of air. Uncle Mo was uneasy at the idea of Dave going away. Besides, he had always cherished the idea that the air of Sapps Court was equal to that of San Moritz, for instance.
Unless, when you are better, you like to go back to Sapps Court. You shall, you know!" Another memory attacked old Maisie. "Oh dear," said she, "I thought our Court was all tumbled down. Was it not?" "Yes the day I came. And then I carried you off to Cavendish Square. Don't you remember? where Miss Grahame was Sister Nora."
I write this in pencil because I cannot find any ink." It was a little stroke of genius worthy of her correspondent's father. Nothing but clairvoyance could have bred suspicion in him. Micky reappeared that evening in Sapps Court, and found an opportunity to convey to Aunt M'riar that he had obeyed his instructions.
They did not give a very good light. The old lady was just beginning to feel exhausted with so much talk. But she was bound to see this Dave's model, his presentment of which had been a source of speculation in Sapps Court! Just fancy! Widow Thrale lifted it bodily from the chimney-shelf, and placed it on the table.
But the watershed of any engine whatever may be its donkey-power, and whatever that name implies slops back where a closed spout changes suddenly to an open gutter, and sets up independent lakes and rivers. This one sent its overflow towards Sapps Court, the incline favouring its distribution along the gutter of the cul-de-sac, which lay a little lower than the main street it opened out of.
It all takes so long to tell. The omission of half would shorten the tale and spare the reader so much. What a very small book the History of the World would be if all the events were left out! It was a fine Sunday morning in Sapps Court, and our young friend Michael Rackstraw was not attending public worship. Not that it was his custom to do so.
He was seeking for an intelligent distinction between Sister Nora and Gwen, in reply to the question "Which?", when the dazzling appearance of the latter answered it for him. "I thought I might come up without waiting to ask," said the vision which is what she seemed, for a moment, to Sapps Court. "So I didn't ask. Is that Mrs. Picture's writing-table where Dave gets his letters written?"
Micky welcomed this, and saying merely: "Ah! like a tip!" followed his mother down the Court to No. 7. Someone, somewhere, must have known, clocks apart, that a day was drawing to a close; a short winter's day, and a dark and cold one at the best. But the someone was not in the Thames Valley, and the somewhere surely was not Sapps Court.
Oh dear what is it?... I thought I was in Sapps Court, with my little Dave and Dolly...." She seemed slow to catch again the thread of the life she had fallen asleep on. Vitality was very low, evidently, and she met an admonition that she must eat something with: "Nothing but milk, please!"
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