What of that?" "Vot 'o that!" echoed Sharples, peevishly: "Everythin'. Immediately after it, he was off again, and that, let me tell you, was the last anyone saw of him. She had slapped him away with her free hand and the finger was released suddenly, sending her careening to the floor. Each morning his inquiry was properly answered: the patient was steadily improving, but none could say when he would be strong enough to proceed upon his journey. First period was the time to be without her, as she was consumed with some before-school activity as Lucy barely made it to her first class in time for the bell. These things did not harmonize with his conception of the forthcoming (if unavoidable) interview. Near the door stood a pile of deal planks, behind which the carpenter ensconced himself in order to reconnoitre, unobserved, the proceedings of his idle apprentice. Everything, Miss Miniver said, was “working up,” everything was “coming on”—the Higher Thought, the Simple Life, Socialism, Humanitarianism, it was all the same really. “I am very much obliged for the tea,” she said.
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