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Wodehouse, P. G. (Pelham Grenville), 1881-1975

"The Clicking of Cuthbert"

Did Mortimer find her dead in the snow, covered except for
her face, on which still lingered that faint, sweet smile which he
remembered so well? Because, if he did, I'm going home."
"No, no," protested the Oldest Member. "Nothing of that kind."
"You're sure? You aren't going to spring it on me suddenly?"
"No, no!"
The young man breathed a relieved sigh.
"It was your saying that about the white mantle covering the earth that
made me suspicious."
The Sage resumed.
* * * * *
It was Christmas Eve. All day the snow had been falling, and now it lay
thick and deep over the countryside. Mortimer Sturgis, his frugal
dinner concluded--what with losing his wife and not being able to get
any golf, he had little appetite these days--was sitting in his
drawing-room, moodily polishing the blade of his jigger. Soon wearying
of this once congenial task, he laid down the club and went to the
front door to see if there was any chance of a thaw. But no. It was
freezing. The snow, as he tested it with his shoe, crackled crisply.


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