Читать книгу Some Do Not... онлайн
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'That means,' Mrs Satterthwaite said, 'that he doesn't mean to reproach her. Emphasized applies to the word solely...!'
'Why d'you take it...' Father Consett asked, 'did he spend an immense lot of money on this telegram? Did he imagine you were in such trepidation...?' He broke off. Walking slowly, her long arms extended to carry the tea-tray, over which her wonderfully moving face had a rapt expression of indescribable mystery, Sylvia was coming through the door.
'Oh, child,' the Father exclaimed, 'whether it's St Martha or that Mary that made the bitter choice, not one of them ever looked more virtuous than you. Why aren't ye born to be a good man's help-meet?'
A little tinkle sounded from the tea-tray and three pieces of sugar fell on to the floor. Mrs Tietjens hissed with vexation.
'I knew that damned thing would slide off the teacups,' she said. She dropped the tray from an inch or so of height on to the carpeted table. 'I'd made it a matter of luck between myself and myself,' she said. Then she faced the priest.