Her whole conduct and tone had been modest and ladylike. She told me the tale the other night, and I've only elaborated it. Twice Spurlock went to Copeley's—twenty miles to the northwest—for ice and mail. My poor brain is so mixed, dear, I hardly know what I am saying. Young, not much older than she was: she was twenty and he was possibly twenty-four. One has to be so careful. But that instinct is severely dampened most of the time. She has already forgotten it. He came in apologetically; all the old “Well, and how ARE we?” note gone; and once he asked Ann Veronica, almost furtively, “How’s Alice getting on, Vee?” Finally, on the Day, he appeared like his old professional self transfigured, in the most beautiful light gray trousers Ann Veronica had ever seen and a new shiny silk hat with a most becoming roll. In short, more preparations were made than if a state criminal was about to be executed. “It’s because I mean to send it back altogether,” she said. Sebastian was gone and another doctor came to bleed her, to rid her of the black humors that were causing the plague. She patted John's head with her palm, its surface appealingly fuzzy. She looked directly at his face, his perpetually graying hair, his hawkish nose, his long cheekbones. It seemed to emanate from the back of the house.
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