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Updated: May 20, 2025
If only the rascal hadn't had a wife and children, and if only his wife but, unfortunately for Mr. Waddington, his wife was Susan Trinder, Mrs. Trinder's husband's niece, and Susan Trinder had been Horace's nurse; and though they all considered that she had done for herself when she married that pig-headed Ballinger, Fanny and Horace still called her Susan-Nanna.
But, after all, she was glad he hadn't seen it. He hadn't seen anything. He hadn't seen that she had been crying. It had never dawned on him that she might care about Susan-Nanna, or that the Ballingers might love their home, their garden and their lavender bushes. He was like that. He didn't see things, and he didn't care.
Old Susan-Nanna had come up from Medlicott to see him. And Ralph Bevan called every day. That gratified him, too. The only person who was not allowed to know anything about his illness was his mother, for Mr. Waddington was certain it would kill her. Every evening at medicine time he would ask the same questions: "My mother doesn't know yet?" And: "Anybody called to-day?"
And when Fanny thought of the lavender bags Susan-Nanna sent every year at Christmas, she had cried. "How could you do it, Horatio? How could you?" "There was nothing else to be done. You can't expect me to take your sentimental, view of Ballinger." "It isn't Ballinger. It's poor Susan-Nanna and the babies, and the lavender bags." Mr. Waddington swayed placably up and down on the tips of his toes.
"It serves poor Susan-Nanna right for marrying Ballinger." "Oh I suppose it serves me right, too " Though she clenched her hands tight, tight, she couldn't keep back that little spurt of anger. He was smiling his peculiar, voluptuous smile. "Serves you right? For spoiling everybody in the village? It does indeed." "You don't in the least see what I mean," said Fanny.
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