Watching him drink his port, Winton would mark:
"We can get you at any time, can't we?"
And the doctor, sucking his lips, would answer:
"Never fear, my dear sir! Little Miss Gyp--old friend of mine. At her
service day and night. Never fear!"
A sensation of comfort would pass through Winton, which would last
quite twenty minutes after the crunching of the wheels and the mingled
perfumes of him had died away.
In these days, his greatest friend was an old watch that had been his
father's before him; a gold repeater from Switzerland, with a chipped
dial-plate, and a case worn wondrous thin and smooth--a favourite of
Gyp's childhood. He would take it out about every quarter of an hour,
look at its face without discovering the time, finger it, all smooth and
warm from contact with his body, and put it back. Then he would listen.
There was nothing whatever to listen to, but he could not help it. Apart
from this, his chief distraction was to take a foil and make passes at
a leather cushion, set up on the top of a low bookshelf. In these
occupations, varied by constant visits to the room next the nursery,
where--to save her the stairs--Gyp was now established, and by
excursions to the conservatory to see if he could not find some new
flower to take her, he passed all his time, save when he was eating,
sleeping, or smoking cigars, which he had constantly to be relighting.
Pages:
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163