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Updated: May 2, 2025
Mrs. Scattergood was a small blond woman, high voiced, precise in manner, very positive in her statements which she delivered in a drawling tone, humourless, inquisitive about petty affairs, the sort of "good woman" with whom no fault can be found, but who drives men to crime. Mrs. Morrell we know.
She smiled at him again, entirely calm and reasonable. "And what good would it do to get after Morrell?" she asked. "Mrs. Morrell only stands for what most of them feel. I don't care, anyway. I get along splendidly without them." She sauntered over to the window, where she began idly to poke one finger at the canary.
"Putney didn't leave off my medicine, did he?" "He never got well so soon before. They both say that. I didn't think you could be so narrow-minded, Dr. Morrell. But of course your scientific bigotry couldn't admit the effect of the moral influence. It would be too much like a miracle; you would have to allow for a mystery." "I have to allow for a good many," said the doctor.
She looked at him an enigmatic moment, then turned away from the table near which they had been standing. "Come, help me break up some of this 'twosing," she said. Shortly after this the party dispersed. Mrs. Morrell said good-bye to them carelessly, or not at all, according as it happened. "You must come again, come often," she told the Keiths. "It's pretty dull unless you make your own fun."
You know there are cases of people who have slept a whole year at a time. That's the way it will be with your body. It just stays there in the jacket, not hurting or anything, just waiting for you to come back. "You try it. I am giving you the straight steer." "And if he don't come back?" Oppenheimer, asked. "Then the laugh will be on him, I guess, Jake," Morrell answered.
There existed not the slightest cordiality between the men, but a tacit assumption of civil relations. But this afternoon the sight of Morrell, seated with what seemed to Keith a smug, superior, supercilious confidence in the best of the office chairs, was more than Keith could stand. He was bursting with anger at the world in general.
Written in pencil were these words: MADAM: Your husband has been injured in an attempt at arrest. He wants me to tell you he is at Jake's Place hurt bad. With respects. For an instant Mrs. Morrell did not dare look up. She was thoroughly angry at what she thought to be her husband's stupidity. "Why, that wouldn't deceive a child!" she thought contemptuously. "How dreadful!
Mulholland's crocked himself, and won't be able to turn out for the concert." "What!" cried Kennedy. "How did it happen? What's he done?" Mr Mulholland was the master who looked after the music of the school, a fine cricketer and keen sportsman. Had nothing gone wrong, he would have conducted at the concert that night. "I heard it from the matron at our place," said Morrell. "She's full of it.
From a group of people preparing to enter a number of vehicles two men came running. Ben Sansome and Morrell, somewhat out of breath, came alongside. They were a little flushed and elevated, but very cordial, and full of reproaches that Keith had so entirely dropped out of sight during the past week. "I tell you, you must come over to our house for supper," said Morrell finally. "Everybody comes."
Mrs. Morrell took charge. She lit the lantern, led the way to the stable, did the most toward harnessing the horse. They made rather a mess of it, but the horse was gentle and reliable. When they had backed the buggy out of the barn, she insisted on driving. "You're in no fit condition," she told Nan, and Nan obediently climbed in beside her.
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