She would come and sit cross-legged just beyond the bamboo curtain and silently watch him at work. At the eastern gate of the churchyard stood the carriage with the steps lowered. In the old days he had been something of an athlete—a runner, an oarsman, and a crack at tennis. She was civil, but she was obviously impatient to know his errand. “They might do you good,” she remarked. Then a servant girl brought in a telegram. " "Hold your tongue, hussy!" cried her husband gruffly.
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