\"Hi. His job as a painter was wearing him down acutely as he aged. ’ Joan sniffed. " "Mr. ” “You are not yourself to-night, Courtlaw,” Ennison said. " And, as if to make the moral more obvious, a dirty pack of cards was scattered, underneath, upon the sawdust. 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. But she was disappointed. . “No, the only person I told before tonight was my mother and father. No doubt that was due to his helplessness. CHAPTER X.
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