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Updated: June 28, 2025
Murcheson was an old and valued servant, and he looked at his master with concern, but he knew him too to make any remark. If there was any one in the world beyond the great surgeon, Lemon Bridges, who could understand the preoccupations of John Ardayre, Murcheson was the man. He brought the old Cognac immediately and retired from the room a moment or two before Denzil arrived.
She did not want to go out at all, she told him; if the kitchenmaid and Murcheson could find them something to eat she would much rather dine alone with him, like a regular old Darby and Joan pair and afterwards she would play nice things to him, and John agreed.
"I shall be very late, Murcheson do not sit up, I will turn out the lights. Good-night." "Very good, Sir John." And the valet left the room. But John Ardayre did not write any business letters; he sank back into his great leather chair his lips were trembling, and presently sobs shook him, and he leaned forward and buried his face in his hands.
Then Murcheson came into the room with the coffee, and this made a break and he immediately asked her to play to him, and settled himself in one of the big chairs. He was too much on the rack to continue any more love-making then; "what might have been" caused too poignant anguish. He watched her delicate profile outlined against the curtain of green silk.
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