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Updated: May 7, 2025
In an invalid's chair drawn near the bedside, a lady well past the middle age but with a face of singular sweetness and refinement was watching and directing the efforts which were being made for the resuscitation of the fainting girl by two servant women, who were busily engaged in chafing her hands and making warm applications to her chilled limbs.
It was clear, though she was silent on the matter, that she considered his sisters to have cold, hard, New England hearts. Mr. Pyecroft withdrew; and Mary, in the high-pitched voice required by the invalid's misfortune, read "Wormwood" for an hour until Jack came to the door and announced that Judge Harvey had again called on them. Alone, Mrs.
"And left an infant!" said the Dutchman, ready to shout with exultation. "Ah! no, Monsieur," said Zalli. The invalid's heart sank like a stone. "Madame John," his voice was all in a tremor, "tell me the truth. Is 'Tite Poulette your own child?" "Ah-h-h, ha! ha! what foolishness! Of course she is my child!" And Madame gave vent to a true Frenchwoman's laugh. It was too much for the sick man.
Sometimes the girl even accompanied him to Alice's room, to sit at the invalid's knee, and chatter with a tact and responsiveness that Alice found an improvement upon her old amusing manner.
He paused; the light vein of humour which he had tried to assume passed off, and there was a twitching about the muscles of his mouth as he resumed "No, Bella must never see me again." Ivanka looked from the invalid's face to mine with eyes so earnest, piercing, and inquiring, that I felt grieved she did not understand us.
Our Creatures are both well stricken in years, and one of them has some incurable disorder which frequently confines her to the wretched cellar in which they live with the invalid's husband, a mild, pleasant-faced man, a tailor by trade, and of batlike habits, who hovers about their dusky doorway in the summer twilight.
In his whole life he had never conceived of so complete a pleasure. Only the convalescent knows the joys of the table. 'That's the last spoonful, Polly, said John Jervase, wiping the pale lips with the napkin he had tucked beneath the invalid's chin at the beginning of the meal. 'You'd like more, wouldn't you?
"Just before dinner!" Susan told her. Turning to the invalid's sister she said: "Miss Lydia, you're busy, and I'm disturbing you." "I wish you'd disturb us a little oftener, then," said Lydia Lord, affectionately. "I can work all the better for knowing that Mary isn't dying to interrupt me." The older sister, seated at a little table under the gaslight, was deep in work.
"Did I ever say whom I had consulted?" said Sir Graham, almost with an invalid's ready suspicion, and peering at the clergyman under his thick eyebrows. "Surely. But I forget things so easily," said Uniacke calmly. "Braybrooke is the man Cavendish Square. An interesting fellow. You may have heard of his book on the use of colour as a sort of physic in certain forms of illness." "I have.
Gay looked up from her invalid's couch and murmured her name in a gentle, reproachful voice. The pale blue circles around the little lady's eyes and faintly smiling mouth were the only signs of the blighting experience through which she had passed.
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