“She is ill you know.”
“There’s some imagines theirselves ill. If she was anything like as ill as I am she might have something to complain about.”
“I think she’s rather plucky. She doesn’t want to give in. It’s a kind of illness that doesn’t show much. I know her doctor. He’s a Harley Street man. He says that her kind of disorder makes it absolutely impossible for the patient to tell the truth. I don’t believe that. It’s just one of those doctory things they all repeat.”... What is truth said jesting Pilate and did not wait for an answer. Their idea of truth—
“Well if she is ill why doesn’t she act according?”
“Look after herself a bit. Yes. That’s what she wants to do. But not give in.”
“Quite so. That’s a thing a person can understand. But that doesn’t make it right to come to private people and behave in the way she has done. Strangers. I never met such conduct, nor heard of it.”
“No.”
“She’s got relatives I suppose; or friends.”
“Well, that’s just it. I don’t think she has. I suppose the truth is all her friends are tired of helping her.”
“Well, I’m not judging her there. There’s none can be so cruel as relatives, as I know, my word.”