“I confess it. Then instantly she got out of bed and proceeded to dress. Manning, with entirely suitable emotion. He looked like a French boy soldier she had once glimpsed marching towards his death in one of the battles they would later call the Hundred Years War. Very well. Afterwards she hunted up the article in question, and it seemed to her quite delightfully written and argued. "Here, Poll, help me!" Thus exhorted, Mrs. ’ ‘Unfair!’ echoed his junior. Her aunt went off at a tangent. If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent.
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