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 Philip could see him. Ha, where's my peppermint? Must have swallowed it. How far away the lad looks. He's in his nightshirt—going to bed—time for bed—"

She slept.

Nicholas thought: "Renny's wasted here. Ought to be having a gay time in London. Let's see; he's thirty-eight. When I was that age—God, I was just beginning to hate Millicent! What a life!"

He heaved himself in his seat and eased his gouty knee.

Ernest thought: "Dear boy, how badly he reads! Still his voice is arresting. I always enjoy old Ecclesiastes. I do hope there will not be plum tart for dinner—I shall be sure to eat it and sure to suffer. Mamma is dropping her peppermint—"

He whispered to her: "Mamma, you are losing your peppermint."

Meg thought: "I wish Renny would not get such a close hair-cut. How splendid he looks. Really, what strange things the Bible says. But very true, of course. How sweet Wake looks! So interested. He has the loveliest eyelashes. He's getting ready to kick Finch on the ankle—"

She bent over Wakefield, and laid a restraining hand on his leg.

Renny's voice read on:—

Eden thought: "He was a poet, the old chap who wrote that. 'Truly the light is sweet—and a pleasant thing it is for the eyes to behold—' Strange I never noticed before how lovely Pheasant is. Her profile—"

He shifted his position a little, so that he might the better see it.

Piers thought: "I wonder if that piece of land needs