“I shall probably want you to come down to the ‘Unusual’ to-morrow morning,” he said. And Ann Veronica walked beside him, trying in vain to soften her heart to him by the thought of how she had ill-used him, and all the time, as her feet and mind grew weary together, rejoicing more and more that at the cost of this one interminable walk she escaped the prospect of—what was it?—“Ten thousand days, ten thousand nights” in his company. She padded up the stairs to the bedroom, finding that her sheets had been changed with a fresh pillow case to welcome her weary head. He did not stagger in the least. “And all the rest of it perhaps is a song. I wonder what he meant by that?" "The Lord knows!" The patient was restless during the first watch of the night.
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