"He may finish himself, but
he'll never finish that book; he keeps on thinking of more to say,
just like Mr. Melcher does when he prays. If it weren't for that
stupid old book he might get well. Was that the telephone?"
It proved to be the side-door bell, which was rung by an old woman who
had lost her husband and her front teeth, and was engaged in the
precarious occupation of selling shoe-strings. She was one of the
numerous proteges, who began to call on Miss Lady soon after
breakfast, and kept up their visits through the day, to the
exasperation of Myrtella Flathers, who spent her time devising means
to rid the back hall of these incumbrances.
In this instance strategy was not required, for she was bidden to send
the woman away. Such an unusual proceeding aroused her curiosity and
she returned to the dining-room to peep through the door at her young
mistress, who had been sitting motionless since breakfast with her
elbows on the table, and her hands locked under her chin. It was
evident that something was wrong, and Myrtella became so concerned
that she at last decided to take action. The panacea she applied to
all ailments, moral or physical, was a counter-irritant.
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