" "Sir Rowland is my brother," resumed Lady Trafford coldly. Because she states her case in a tangle, drags it through swamps of nonsense, it doesn’t alter the fact that she is right. She drifted back into the welcoming arms of sleep, feeling herself surrounded in silk. In passing, why do we fear death? For our sins? Rather, isn't it the tremendous inherent human curiosity to know what is going to happen to-morrow that causes us to wince at the thought of annihilation? A subconscious resentment against the idea of entering darkness while our neighbour will proceed with his petty affairs as usual? "It's nip and tuck," said the doctor; "but we'll pull him through. Anna never knew whither it had led her— sometimes she had fears. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. I will hold Hilary in check, never fear.
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