Miss Triscoe-and-her-father. She wishes to come down and see you."
Mrs. March sat up and began to twist her hair into shape. "And Burnamy?"
"There is no Burnamy physically, or so far as I can make out,
spiritually. She didn't mention him, and I talked at least five minutes
with her."
"Hand me my dressing-sack," said Mrs. March, "and poke those things on
the sofa under the berth. Shut up that wash-stand, and pull the curtain
across that hideous window. Stop! Throw those towels into your berth. Put
my shoes, and your slippers into the shoe-bag on the door. Slip the
brushes into that other bag. Beat the dent out of the sofa cushion that
your head has made. Now!"
"Then--then you will see her?"
"See her!"
Her voice was so terrible that he fled before it, and he returned with
Miss Triscoe in a dreamlike simultaneity. He remembered, as he led the
way into his corridor, to apologize for bringing her down into a basement
room.
"Oh, we're in the basement, too; it was all we could get," she said in
words that ended within the state-room he opened to her. Then he went
back and took her chair and wraps beside her father.
He let the general himself lead the way up to his health, which he was
not slow in reaching, and was not quick in leaving.
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