CHAPTER XII
BAD NEWS
Sa maniere de souffrir est le temoignage qu'une ame porte sur elle-meme.
There was a horrid throbbing silence while Dora read, and her parents
calculated the seconds which would necessarily elapse before she reached
the bottom line. Such moments as these are scored up as years in the span
of life.
Mrs. Glynde did not know what she was doing. It happened that she
was trying to rub away a flaw in the window-glass with her pocket
hand-kerchief--a flaw which must have been an old friend, as such things
are in quiet lives. At this occupation she found herself when her heart
began to beat again.
"I suppose," said Dora in a terribly calm voice, "that the _Times_ never
makes a mistake--I mean they never publish anything unless they are quite
sure?"
Then the English gentleman of parts who ever and anon peeped out through
the veneer of the parson asserted himself--the English gentleman whose
sense of fair play and honour told him that it is better to strike at
once a blow that must be struck than to keep the victim waiting.
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