In the old days he had been something of an athlete—a runner, an oarsman, and a crack at tennis. " "Murder him!" cried Trenchard shuddering. “Remember,” he said, “you are not by any means a dying man now, but you’ll never pull through if you don’t husband your strength. “Only four spoonsful left,” she declared briskly, “and your turn to buy the next pound, Sydney. ‘How dull it must have been for you, poor little one. Ann Veronica forgot him as soon as she was through the gate, and her face resumed its expression of stern preoccupation.
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