"
"They told me last summer in London that the damage to the lungs had
been quite outgrown, and that he would only need moderate care for
the future. Indeed, we should have stayed at home this year, but
last summer twelvemonth there was a fever, and that set on foot a
perquisition into our drains at Belforest, and it was satisfactorily
proved that we ought by good rights to have been all dead of typhoid
long ago. So we turned the workmen in, and they could not of course
be got out again. And then Allen fell in love with parquet and
tiles, and I was weak enough to think it a good opportunity when all
the floors were up. But when a man of taste takes to originality,
there's no end of it. Everything has had to be made on purpose, and
certain little tiles five times over; for when they did come out the
right shape, they were of a colour that Allen pronounced utter
demoralisation. However, we are quite determined to get home this
summer, and you and Mary must meet there, and show old Kenminster to
Mr. Morgan. Ah! here she comes, and I shall leave you to enjoy this
lucid interval of her while Mr. Morgan is doing his last lessons with
the children."
"How exactly like herself!" exclaimed Mr. Ogilvie, as Mrs. Brownlow
vanished under one of the arches.
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