"Strong! He's not a buffalo like some men, like Jimmy Benyon
or, I suppose, that poor creature's husband she's always talking about.
But there's nothing the matter with him, there's no reason he
shouldn't--no reason he should fall ill at all."
"She thinks he ought to rest, perhaps give up altogether."
"Altogether? Nonsense!" The tone was sharp.
"Well, then, for a long while."
"And go away, and let you coddle him?"
"Yes, and let me coddle him." May looked down on Aunt Maria, and for the
first time smiled faintly.
"The woman's out of her senses," declared Aunt Maria testily. "Don't you
think so? Don't you think so?"
"I don't know," was all May could say in answer either to the irritation
of the voice or to the fear of the eyes. The old lady's hands were
trembling as she raised them and gave a pull to the bow of her
bonnet-strings.
"He'll see me out anyhow, I'll be bound," she said obstinately. She was
fighting against the bare idea of being left with a remnant of life to
live and no Sandro to fill it for her; what a miserable fag-end of empty
waiting that would be! She glanced sharply at his wife; she did not know
what his wife was thinking of.
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