It was noon when the caravan reached the tower of the water-clock. Thames Darrell is—" "My husband nicknames him Thames," interrupted Mrs. ” A little blond creature close at hand suddenly gave way to a fit of hysterical laughter, and caught up the end of it with a sob. With me behaving as if everything was infinitely matter-of-fact, what could he do? And just then Heaven sent old Manningtree—I didn’t tell you before of the fortunate intervention of Manningtree, did I? He was looking quite infernally distinguished, with a wide crimson ribbon across him—what IS a wide crimson ribbon? Some sort of knight, I suppose. He was continually dramatizing the future, anticipating the singular role he had elected to play. Essentially the talk was a mixture of fragments of sentences heard, of passages read, or arguments indicated rather than stated, and all of it was served in a sauce of strange enthusiasm, thin yet intense.
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