Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. "Well?" he said, as Spurlock reached his side. He felt that he might soon be separated—perhaps, for ever—from the fond little creature he held in his arms, whom he had always regarded with the warmest fraternal affection, and the thought of how much she would suffer from the separation so sensibly affected him, that he could not help joining in her grief. She’ll have to wait for dinner,” he said, uncomfortably. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. She struggled fiercely not to give way. “I did everything I could to save your baby, Lucia, I have the medical knowledge to cure almost anything, but the Pestilence struck you too fast. She's the boss. What our dear mother would say back home I dread to think. . She felt that for a time at any rate her depressing struggle against continual failure was at an end. Her interest grew as she read, a certain distaste disappeared. Michelle looked like she was about to throw up herself. We must wave our hands at the blue hills far away there and go back to London and work. The significance of the kiss was still obscure to her, though she had frequently encountered the word and act in the Old and New Testaments and latterly in novels.
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