I’ve always had a sneaking desire for the writing-trade. ‘And since the entire company and Pottiswick himself were unable to find hide nor hair of the infernal French female—’ ‘English, Hilary,’ Gerald reminded him. Mrs. Wood, was much better furnished with eatables than might have been expected, and boasted a loaf, a knuckle of ham, a meat-pie, and a flask of wine. She found the silence comforting, as old people often do. Whenever Ah Cum (whose normal stride was sufficient to keep him at the side of her chair) pointed out something of interest, she had to strain the cords in her neck to focus her glance upon the object. If Emile can see him, then so also can I. She made no attempt to answer her sister’s question. Straitened circumstances would not have mattered; a mother would have managed somehow. “Have some more port wine, sir?” “It’s a very sound wine,” said Mr. Anyhow, he did not sentimentalize her.
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