Three inert figures sat on chairs, staring dumbly into the distance. Kestrel would have run out and hung himself had he realized what an expression of relief descended on his features. “Ah, here is Miss Mathieson!” he exclaimed joyfully. “How is your secretary, Miss Mathieson? Feeling a little better, I hope?” “About the same, I fear. He is suffering from a fever contracted—” I came to a screaming halt. Not one word of the East! “Contracted a while ago,” I concluded. Kestrel eased into a smile. “Something he picked up in the desert, is it?” “Very likely.” Sir Herbert came to life and picked up a magazine. Miss Longville stared at us, mute as a picture on the wall, then strolled to the window, where she seemed wrapped up in thought. Kestrel moved closer on the sofa for some private conversation. We had to keep our voices low because of Sir Herbert. “Did you ever come across this paralysis of the tongue during your travels?” he asked. “No, sir. This, if I am not mistaken, is a peculiarly English provincial disease.
What do You think about Memoirs Of A Hoyden (1988)?
