Since morning he had become fanatical; the atoms of common sense no longer functioned in the accustomed groove. And in those days, too, he used to help her mother with her gardening, and hover about her while she stood on the ladder and hammered creepers to the scullery wall. ’ ‘Fiddle,’ scoffed Miss Froxfield. For four hours he had shifted his own troubles to the shoulders of these imaginative characters.
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