"What about Mrs. Ladley?" he snapped.
"You said she was ill last night."
"Oh, yes! Well, she wasn't very sick. She's better."
"Shall I bring her some tea?"
"Take your foot away!" he ordered. "No. She doesn't want tea. She's
not here."
"Not here!"
"Good heavens!" he snarled. "Is her going away anything to make such
a fuss about? The Lord knows I'd be glad to get out of this infernal
pig-wallow myself."
"If you mean my house--" I began.
But he had pulled himself together and was more polite when he
answered. "I mean the neighborhood. Your house is all that could be
desired for the money. If we do not have linen sheets and double
cream, we are paying muslin and milk prices."
Either my nose was growing accustomed to the odor, or it was dying
away: I took my foot away from the door. "When did Mrs. Ladley leave?"
I asked.
"This morning, very early. I rowed her to Federal Street."
"You couldn't have had much sleep," I said dryly. For he looked
horrible. There were lines around his eyes, which were red, and his
lips looked dry and cracked.
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