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Updated: May 6, 2025
Stewart said about my chances of a First." Tims pushed her silk turban still higher up on her forehead. "I can always humbug Miss Walker and make her say lots of indiscreet things," Tims returned, with labored diplomacy. "But I don't repeat them at least, not invariably." There was a further argument on the point, which ended by Milly shedding tears and imploring to be told the worst.
Glynde, who had strong views upon butlers in general and Tims in particular said Tims being so sure of his place that he did not always trouble to know it. "Library, sir," replied Tims in an appropriately sepulchral voice. The Rector went to the library without waiting to be announced.
Every ten or fifteen minutes, while he occupied the floor, he would exclaim in a low voice, "Tims, more porter!" and the assistant doorkeeper would hand him a foaming tumbler of potent malt liquor, which he would hurriedly drink, and then proceed with his remarks, often thus drinking three or four quarts in an afternoon. He was not choice in his selection of epithets, and as Mr.
But Miss Burt was closeted with the treasurer and an architect from London, and was on no account to be disturbed. So Tims went up to her own room and rapidly revolved the situation. She was certain that Milly was not physically ill; on the contrary, she looked much better than she had looked on the previous day.
Tims, temporarily oblivious of all awkward circumstances, continued, still more sentimentally: "Then I was there, as I've told you, when Ian's pop came to poor old M. Poor old girl! She was awfully spifligatingly happy, and I feel just the same now myself."
He wants me to be his wife." Most girls would have hugged and kissed Milly, and Tims did hug her, but instead of kissing her, she banged and slapped her back and shoulders hard all over, shaking the while with deep internal chuckles. It hurt, but Milly did not mind, for it was sympathy.
It was grizzled now, and much less intrusive. "I'm about tired out," he said, shortly. "Look here," she continued, "if you really want Milly back, just say so. She's kind of knocking at the door, and I believe I could let her in if I tried." He dropped wearily into a chair. "For Heaven's sake, Miss Timson, don't put the responsibility on me!" "I can't help it," returned Tims.
Tony, his hands held fast, wriggled, rubbed his shoulder against his ear, and for all answer laughed in a childish, silly way. Such is the depth and secretiveness of children, whom we call transparent. "Did you think Mummy was dead?" "What's 'dead'?" asked Tony, with interest, putting off his mask of inanity. "People are dead when they've gone to sleep and will never wake again," returned Tims.
But Tims had no desire to meddle, and the months passed by without any symptoms of the change appearing. It seemed as if Mildred's hold upon life had never been so firm, the power of her personality never so fully developed. She belonged to a large family which in all its branches had a trick of throwing up successful men and brilliant women.
But as she was laying them on the little dressing-table, Milly suddenly flung herself down on the bed and lay there a twisted heap of blue flannel, her face buried in the pillows, her whole body shaken by a paroxysm of sobs. Tims supposed that this might be a good thing for Milly; but for herself it created an awkward situation.
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