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Thirza Pierson, seeing her brother-in-law's handwriting, naturally said: “Here's a letter from Ted.”
Bob Pierson, with a mouth full of sausage, as naturally responded:
“What does he say?”
In reading on, she found that to answer that question was one of the most difficult tasks ever set her. Its news moved and disturbed her deeply. Under her wing this disaster had happened! Down here had been wrought this most deplorable miracle, fraught with such dislocation of lives! Noel's face, absorbed and passionate, outside the door of her room on the night when Cyril Morland went away—her instinct had been right!
“He wants you to go up and stay with him, Bob.”
“Why not both of us?”
“He wants Nollie to come down to me; she's not well.”
“Not well? What's the matter?”
To tell him seemed disloyalty to her sex; not to tell him, disloyalty to her husband. A simple consideration of fact and not of principle, decided her. He would certainly say in a moment: 'Here! Pitch it over!' and she would have to. She said tranquilly: