Angelica’s state of health deteriorated daily, a fact that of course had nothing to do with her daily encounters with a certain hardened rakeshame. “Palpitations!” she said, as she paced the floor of her eldest brother’s specimen room. “An oppression of the chest! And I warn you, Valerian, that if you prescribe me a hot brick, I am very likely to throw it at your head!” Valerian cast a professional eye over his sister, who had paused in her perambulations to gaze gloomily into a display case. “You’re looking knocked into horsenails, Sis. Leave what’s-her-name and the others to deal with their problems and go home. You need a rest.” “I am to have a rest in the country?” Angelica turned away from the display case, in which were very advantageously arranged a remarkable variety of spinal cords, and moved to inspect a fine array of teeth. “A quiet country holiday? In company with Marigold and Hysop, Hyacinth and Violet, Amaryllis and Camilla, every one of whom is every bit as aggravating as Rosemary?
