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Quiller-Couch, Arthur Thomas, Sir, 1863-1944

"The Mayor of Troy"


"What? Eight visits?"
"And that's not the worst of it," put in the Nurse, Mrs. Snell,
sympathetically, smoothing the coverlet. "First and last there's
been forty-two in these six days. It can't be for his looks, as I
tell en; and his name bein' Solomon won't account for the whole of
it."
"I sometimes think," said the Doctor pensively and with entire
gravity, turning to his assistant, "we shall have to diminish the
numbers of the Visiting Committee. My dear friend Hymen planned it,
in years gone by, on a war footing; and even so I remember suggesting
to him at the time that the scale was somewhat--er--grandiose.
But it was characteristic of him, and we have clung to it for that
reason, in a spirit perhaps _too_ piously conservative. Forty-two
ladies! My good fellow"--he turned to the patient--"I really think--
if your leg is equal to it--a short stroll in the fresh air may be
permitted. Pray do not think we desire to hurry your cure.
Even setting aside the dictates of charity, and our natural
tenderness towards one who, as I understand, has bled for our common
country, we owe you something"--the Major's fingers plucked nervously
at the bed-clothes--"some reparation," the Doctor went on, "for
the--er--character of your reception. In short, I hope, on your
complete recovery, to find you some steady employment, such as too
many of our returning heroes are at this moment seeking in vain.


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