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Updated: June 22, 2025
Their names are Aloes, Scammony, and Gamboge. In plainer words, I am now living on a Pill. Wragge's from whom, as I told you, my wife had expectations. Very good. What do you think I did? I invested the whole of my capital, at one fell swoop, in advertisements, and purchased my drugs and my pill-boxes on credit. The result is now before you. Here I am, a Grand Financial Fact.
Mrs. Wragge's faded blue eyes began to brighten dimly, in spite of her remorse; but she self-denyingly shook her head. The master-passion of shopping might claim his own again but the ghost was not laid yet. "Did you get it at a bargain?" asked Magdalen, confidentially. "Dirt cheap!" cried poor Mrs.
At last she crossed the room impatiently to seek the trivial relief of unlocking her trunk and taking from it the few things that she wanted for the night. Captain Wragge's suspicions had not misled him. There, hidden between two dresses, were the articles of costume which he had missed from her box at Birmingham.
Here, in Number Four, are my Adopted Handwritings of public characters; my testimonials to my own worth and integrity; my Heartrending Statements of the officer's family, the curate's wife, and the grazier's widow, stained with tears, blotted with emotion; et cetera, et cetera. Wragge's head; fluctuations in our means and meals, our payments, prospects, and principles; et cetera, et cetera.
Wragge's last question, trifling as it was, had checked her on the verge of the precipice had roused the old vain hope in her once more of release by accident. "Why not?" she said. "Why may something not have happened to one of them?" She placed the laudanum in the cupboard, locked it, and put the key in her packet. "Time enough still," she thought, "before Monday.
"You freeze the very marrow of my bones. Good-morning!" She coolly tossed the Oriental Cashmere Robe into Mrs. Wragge's expansive lap and left the room in an instant. As she swiftly descended the stairs, she heard the door of the bedroom open. "Where are your manners?" cried a voice from above, hailing her feebly over the banisters. "What do you mean by pitching my gown at me in that way?
Who could think it strange now if she wore her veil down, and if she begged Mrs. Lecount's permission to sit with her back to the light? Her last proceeding was to put on the quiet gray cloak which she had brought from Birmingham, and which had been padded inside by Captain Wragge's own experienced hands, so as to hide the youthful grace and beauty of her back and shoulders.
Wragge's anxiety was nothing more important than an old-fashioned Treatise on the Art of Cookery, reduced under the usual heads of Fish, Flesh, and Fowl, and containing the customary series of recipes. Turning over the leaves, Magdalen came to one particular page, thickly studded with little drops of moisture half dry. "Curious!" she said.
Lecount's mind relaxed at last. She left her seat on the Parade, and returned in higher spirits than usual, to perform the closing household ceremonies at Sea View. She sat down alone in the parlor and drew a long breath of relief. Captain Wragge's calculations had not deceived him.
Captain Wragge's artfully irritating explanation had awakened that dormant suspicion of his housekeeper's influence over him which habitually lay hidden in his mind, and which Mrs. Lecount was now not present to charm back to repose as usual. "What must Miss Bygrave think of me!" he exclaimed, with a sudden outburst of vexation. "I'll send Lecount away. Damme, I'll send Lecount away on the spot!"
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