On the afternoon in July the smile
told him (_d_) that he was possessed by one of his ideas.
"Extraordinary how she tumbles to things!" he reflected.
Nellie's new fox-terrier had come in from the garden through the French
window, and eaten part of a muffin, and Denry had eaten a muffin and a
half, before Nellie, straightening herself proudly and putting her
shoulders back (a gesture of hers) thought fit to murmur:
"Well, anything thrilling happened to-day?"
Denry opened the green sheet and read:
"'Sudden death of Alderman Bloor in London.' What price that?"
"Oh!" exclaimed Nellie. "How shocked father will be! They were always
rather friendly. By the way, I had a letter from mother this morning. It
appears as if Toronto was a sort of paradise. But you can see the old
thing prefers Bursley. Father's had a boil on his neck, just at the edge
of his collar. He says it's because he's too well. What did Mr Bloor die
off?"
"He was in the fashion," said Denry.
"How?"
"Appendicitis, of course. Operation--domino! All over in three days."
"Poor man!" Nellie murmured, trying to feel sad for a change and not
succeeding.
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