"Too much."
"By herself?"
"No; always with Dr. Harpe. Dr. Harpe drinks like a man—that size." She held up significant fingers.
Symes frowned.
"I know that Dr. Harpe's sentiments are not—er—strictly temperance, but Augusta—this is news to me, and I don't like it." He thrust his hands deep in his trousers pockets and leaned his shoulder against the door jamb.
"When did this commence?"
"With the comin' of that woman to this house."
"It's curious—I've never noticed it."
"They've taken care of that. She's a—nuisance."
"You don't like Dr. Harpe?" Watching her face, Symes saw the change which flashed over it with his question.