"Whose house do you want, master?" said the man, touching his hat. ‘Because I’m a female,’ declared Lucilla unanswerably. “Annabel, I begin to see why you are here. “Quite unusually cold for the time of year,” he said. ‘Who’d believe me? And I’d have to tell my part in it all, too. ” “Why not?” She turned on him. Wood bore up with great fortitude against the shock, attended the inquest, delivered his evidence with composure, and gave directions afterwards for the funeral, which took place on the day but one following—Sunday. “You are talking like a boy. There was more to be told, and this was as good a time as any. She never grew angry for anything her husband did: such anger as came to her was directed against the lazy, incompetent servant who was always snooping about in the inner temple—Spurlock's study. “Queer letters he writes,” she said. "Stir a foot, at your peril.
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