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When poor Mr. Carter died, the next day she said, "Now, Mary, you are entirely too young to live all your long years of widowhood alone, and as I am in the same condition, I will let my cottage, and move up the street into your house to protect and console you." And she did—the moving and the protecting. "So after ten years Alfred Bennett is coming back to offer his bachelor's-buttons to you, Mrs. Molly?" he said in the voice he always uses when he makes fun of Billy and me, and which never fails to make us both mad. David acquiesced, as far as the play was concerned. "But you are not going to take us," he said firmly. "This is my spree and I can't let any other fellow butt in. We'll get seats together, and have a bully time, if you're willing to go with us. Come, Judy, we'll hustle on ahead and secure the seats, while these elderly folks stroll after us at their leisure.".
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"Yes," he replied, in a hesitating manner, as of one unused to speech. "She came to the library window ten minutes ago, having escaped from the custody of her mother and Dido. Quite hysterical, as you see, and bent upon seeing our poor dead lad. To pacify her I brought her, but as you see--" Lady Meg Brance was called by the prosecution to prove that a certain mendicant, by name Battersea, had offered her the devil-stick for sale as a curiosity. Knowing that it was the weapon with which Mr. Alymer had been killed--according to the reports which were current at the time--she had brought it to Major Jen, along with the tramp. "Indeed, you did not. Dido. You did not inform me that by Dr. Etwald's directions you filled the devil-stick with poison, or that you steeped the handkerchief found in the room of Mr. Alymer in the same poison for the purpose of drugging my servant; or again, that you concealed yourself under the bed, and afterward drugged him." He was tall, he was thin, with a dark, lean face, and fiery watchful dark eyes. For three years he had been wasting his talents in the neighboring town of Deanminster; when, if intellect were in question, he should have been shouldering his way above the crowd of mediocrities in London. The man was dispassionate, brilliant and persevering; he had in him the makings not only of a great physician, but of a great man; and he was wasting his gifts in a dull provincial town. He was unpopular in Deanminster, owing to the absence of what is termed "a good bedside manner," and the invalids of the cathedral city and Hurstleigh, for he had patients in both places, resented his brusque ways and avoidance of their scandal-mongering tea parties. Also he was a mystery; than which there can be no greater sin in provincial eyes. No one knew who Etwald was, or whence he came, or why he wasted his talents in the desert of Deanminster; and such secret past which he declined to yield up to the most persistent questioner, accentuated the distrust caused by his sombre looks and curt speeches. Provincial society is intolerant of originality..
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