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He set his heavy foot upon the insect, and its beauty was no more. As the Captain's heavy cavalry stride shakes Nixey's roof, the upright, lightly-built soldierly figure in khâki turns and comes towards him, giving the binoculars in charge to the Sergeant-Major of Irregulars, who is his orderly of the day. "I want a word with you, Wrynche. Rawlings will take the glasses. Come in here under cover."
The musing Major cleared his throat, and his large, rather stupid, blonde face was perfectly stolid as he smoked and stared at his host, reminding himself that Beauvayse had been jealous of Saxham, Attached Medical Staff, Gueldersdorp, and had feared that, if the fellow knew of the scratch against him, he might force the running; and recalling, with a tingling of the shamed blood in his expansive countenance, how he Wrynche had let Beauvayse into the sordid secret that Alderman Brooker had blabbed.
From thence, as Lady Hannah Wrynche had said in one of her descriptive letters, dated from "My Headquarters at the Seat of War," it dominated the landscape as a Brobdingnagian stone mushroom might have done.
Saxham the man shrinks from him with unutterable loathing. But Saxham the surgeon stoops over him, saying, in distinct, even tones: "Captain Wrynche was here. He has been recalled to Hotchkiss Outpost North. Drink this." This is a little measure of brandy-and-water, in which some tabloids of morphia have been dissolved. And Beauvayse obeys, panting: "All right.
"I say, if a stranger of the kickable sex had told such a pack of infernal " Click! Lady Hannah hung up the receiver, blew a contemptuous kiss into the gape of the celluloid mouthpiece, and turned to go. There was another ring-up as she reached the door. "Hallo. Are you the Convalescent Hospital?" "Yes. Who are you?" "Staff Bombproof South. I want to speak to Lady Hannah Wrynche."
And that's what you may call the Clue Direct, Saxham, I rather fancy?" Major Bingo Wrynche leaned back with an air of some finality, and with some little difficulty extracted a biggish square envelope from the left inner pocket of the accurately-fitting frock-coat.
"SIR, I have to report that the sortie you have planned to take place on the morning of the 26th, for the capture of the enemy's big gun, is known to General Brounckers, and that the menaced position will be strengthened and manned to resist you. "Obediently, "H. WRYNCHE." Underneath is the sarcastic comment: "December 27th. "Nice if you had got this in time, eh?
"If you were to say to me this minute, 'Hannah Wrynche, jump off the end of that high rock-bluff there, down on those uncommonly nasty-looking stones below, I vow I'd do it!" Saxham's blue eyes were kind. Here was a fellow hero-worshipper. "I believe you would do it, and that he believes it too." She tapped him on the sleeve with the long cherry-wood stick of her white green-lined umbrella.
"And, ah! the difference between what I have done and what I meant to do!" he said. Her black eyes flashed. "You have never really felt it. Achievement with you has never hit below the mark. You, of all men living, are least fitted to enter into the rueful regrets and dismal disillusions of a Hannah Wrynche."
"A splinter has shattered the lower portion of the spine. The agony can be deadened with an opiate, and the ruptured arteries ligatured. Beyond that there is nothing else to do, though he may live till morning." "He managed to ask for Wrynche before he swooned, so we 'phoned him at Hotchkiss Outpost North. He got here ten minutes ago, badly cut up, but there has been no recognition of him.
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