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Updated: May 1, 2025
Lady Scatcherd, with slow step, went downstairs and again sought counsel with Hannah, and the two, putting their heads together, agreed that the only cure for the present evil was to found in a good fee. So Lady Scatcherd, with a five-pound note in her hand, and trembling in every limb, went forth to encounter the august presence of Dr Fillgrave.
"My things were indeed in shameful disorder," murmured Helen to me, in a low voice: "I intended to have arranged them, but I forgot." Next morning, Miss Scatcherd wrote in conspicuous characters on a piece of pasteboard the word "Slattern," and bound it like a phylactery round Helen's large, mild, intelligent, and benign-looking forehead.
Something might come of this." "You go on!" says Irene, nodding to her brother. "Say what you said." Adrian accepts the prolocutorship. "To the best of my recollection I said: 'Stop Ply knocking Miss Scatcherd down again! Because he did it before, you know.... Oh yes, entirely from love, no doubt! Then I heard you say: 'How do you know it's Miss Scatcherd? And I told you." "Yes yes yes yes!
"Indeed, now, Scatcherd, you ain't; you're bad enough if you only knew it. And as for Winterbones, he has no business here up in your bedroom, which stinks of gin so, it does. Don't you believe him, doctor; he ain't well, nor yet nigh well."
He denied the charge as being made in the plural number, and declared that his only low co-reveller was Roger Scatcherd. With Roger Scatcherd, at any rate, he associated, and became as democratic as Roger was himself. Now the Thornes of Ullathorne were of the very highest order of Tory excellence. Whether or not Mary Scatcherd at once accepted the offer of the respectable tradesman, I cannot say.
"It wasn't because I'm ill that I sent for you, or rather let her ladyship send for you. Lord bless you, Thorne; do you think I don't know what it is that makes me like this? When I see that poor wretch, Winterbones, killing himself with gin, do you think I don't know what's coming to myself as well as him? "Why do you take it then? Why do you do it? Your life is not like his. Oh, Scatcherd!
"Yes; Boxall Hill: my master's place my master is Sir Louis Scatcherd, baronet. You've heard of him, I suppose?" Dr Fillgrave had not his mind quite ready for such an occasion. So he withdrew his foot from the carriage step, and rubbing his hands one over another, looked at his own hall door for inspiration.
"Well, it certainly won't belong to me." "I wish it did, with all my heart. But even then, I would not live here. I have had too many troubles here to wish to see more." "That shall be just as you like, Lady Scatcherd; but you will be surprised to hear that the place will at least I think it will belong to a friend of yours: to one to whom you have been very kind." "And who is he, doctor?
They loved each other, doubtless, and had either of them been in real danger, that danger would have made the other miserable; but yet it might well be a question whether either would not be more comfortable without the other. The doctor, as was his custom, dined at five, and at seven he went up to the cottage of his old friend Lady Scatcherd.
When he was liberated he at once got work; but those who have watched the lives of such people know how hard it is for them to recover lost ground. She became a mother immediately after his liberation, and when her child was born they were in direst want; for Scatcherd was again drinking, and his resolves were blown to the wind. The doctor was then living at Greshamsbury.
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