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 she felt the fatigue of her broken night, the irritability of her frayed nerves.

"It's that there Dr. Kennedy. He wants to know how soon he may come over. He says he's got something to tell you. 'All the fat's in the fire,' he said. 'Am I to tell her that?' I arst him. 'Tell her anything you like,' he answered, 'but find out how soon I can see her.' Very arbitrary he was and impatient, as if I'd nothing to do but give and take his messages."

"Tell him I'm just getting up. I can be ready in half an hour."

"I shall tell him nothing of the sort. Half an hour, indeed, with your bath and everything, and no breakfast, and the fire not yet lit. Nor one of the rooms done, I shouldn't think &hellip;"

"Tell him I'll see him in half an hour," Margaret persisted. "Now go away, that's a good woman, and do as you are told. Don't stand there arguing, or I'll answer the telephone myself." She put one foot out of bed as if to be as good as her word, and Stevens, grumbling and astonished, went to do her bidding.

Half an hour seemed too long for Margaret. What had Peter Kennedy to tell her? Had he met or seen Mrs. Roope? "All the fat was in the fire." What fat, what fire? The phrase foreshadowed comedy and not tragedy. But that was nothing for Peter Kennedy, who was in continual need of