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Updated: May 10, 2025
"He's taken all sorts of things pyjamas, razors, all his pockethandkerchiefs... I had to look through his drawers to find those letters he told me to answer." Sutton had gone through into the slip of white tiled lavatory beyond. She followed him. "My God," he said, "yes. He's taken his toothbrush and his sleeping draught.... You know he tried to get leave yesterday and they wouldn't give it him?"
Ange, his Swiss servant, knocked at his door with a dozen pockethandkerchiefs, a bottle of eau-de-cologne, and some other properties of his metier. St. Ange could not wait until he had laid them down, but broke out with 'Oh, mi Lor! qu'est-il arrive? le pauvre capitaine! il est tue il se meurt he dies d'un coup de pistolet.
There were other letters which he had told her to answer. As soon as he had started she went into his room to look for them. If they were not on the chimneypiece they would be in the drawer with his razors and pockethandkerchiefs. It was John's room, after she had gone through it, that showed her what he was doing. Sutton looked in before she had finished.
Cannon was always seated at some delicate white or other needlework, as if she herself made the collars and the neckties and hemmed the pockethandkerchiefs, though the air of this conflicts with the sense of importation from remoter centres of fashion breathed by some of the more thrilling of the remarks I heard exchanged, at the same time that it quickened the oddity of the place.
There was an infinity of clothes which someone had ordered for her, and on all the things which would bear a mark, there was a coronet. The coronets on the pockethandkerchiefs seemed to be without end. And there was funereal note-paper, on which the black edges were not more visible than the black coronets.
What the steps went down to was a spacious room, light and friendly, so that it couldn't have been compromised by an "area," which offered the brave mystification, amid other mystifications, of being at once a parlour and a shop, a shop in particular for the relief of gentlemen in want of pockethandkerchiefs, neckties, collars, umbrellas and straw-covered bottles of the essence known in old New York as "Cullone" with a very long and big O. Mrs.
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