"What is the good of standing there?" she said to Jem. "Can't you find
something more useful to do than that?"
Jem looked at her, first with surprise and then with something very
nearly approaching contempt.
"I am waiting," he replied, "for Ruthine. He is a doctor."
"Who wants a doctor now? What is the good of a doctor now--now that
Seymour is dead? I don't know what he is doing here, at any rate,
meddling."
"Arthur wants a doctor," replied Jem. "Can you not see that he is in a
sort of trance? He hears and sees nothing. He is quite unconscious."
Mrs. Agar seemed only half to understand. She stared at her son, swaying
backwards and forwards in imbecile misery.
"Oh dear! oh dear!" she whispered, "what have we done to deserve this?"
After a few seconds she repeated the words.
"What have we done to deserve this? What have we done ..."
Her voice died away into a whisper, and when that became inaudible her
lips went on moving, still framing the same words over and over again.
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