E. “It has all been a mistake, hasn’t it?” “No more talking,” the doctor interposed. ’ ‘Fiddle,’ scoffed Miss Froxfield. It got on my nerves—the women I saw. ” She rolled over on her face, and stuffed her fingers in her ears to shut out the rhythm from her mind. When first brought under consideration, she was a miserable and forlorn object; squalid in attire, haggard in looks, and emaciated in frame. “You can’t imagine,” Sydney exclaimed, “that the people downstairs will be such drivelling asses as to believe piffle like that.
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