But it seems to
me that a setter is not the best sort of a dog for a farm like this. I
should think you ought to have a big mastiff, or something of that sort."
"It is a great pity," said Ralph, musingly, "that he happened to be
unchained."
"The more I think about it," said Cicely, "the less I like setters. They
are so intimately connected with the death of the beautiful. Did you ever
think of that?"
Ralph never had, and as a man now came up to talk to him about hay, the
dog and everything connected with it passed out of his mind.
When Miss Panney reached home after her abrupt parting from Dora
Bannister, she took a dose of the last medicine that Dr. Tolbridge had
prescribed for her. It was against her rules to use internal medicines,
but she made exceptions on important occasions, and as this was a remedy
for the effects of anger, she had taken it before and she took it now.
Then she went to bed and there she stayed until three o'clock the next
afternoon. This greatly disturbed the Wittons, for they had always
believed that this hearty old lady would not be carried off by any
disease, but when her time had come would simply take to her bed and die
there, after the manner of elderly animals.
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