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Stevenson, Burton Egbert, 1872-1962

"The Gloved Hand"

"Certainly. What
have I to fear?"
I had to confess that I myself did not know very clearly what she had
to fear, so I temporised.
"Are you keeping the nurses?"
"No; I do not need them. They left an hour ago."
"But the servants," I said, in a panic, "they are here? They are going
to stay?"
Again she looked at me.
"Your questions seem most extraordinary to me, Mr. Lester. Of course
the servants will stay."
"And--and the Hindus?" I blurted out.
"Yes, and the Hindus, as you call them. This is their home. It was my
father's wish."
I gave it up; her manner indicated that all this was no concern of
mine, and that my interference was a mere impertinence. But I tried
one parting shot.
"Mr. Swain is very anxious you should not stay here," I said. "He will
be deeply grieved when he learns your decision."
To this she made no answer, and, finding nothing more to say, sore at
heart, and not a little angry and resentful, I started to leave the
room.
"There is one thing more," I said, turning back at the threshold. "I
shall have to go in to the city to-morrow, but I shall come out again
in the evening. Would it be convenient to have our business conference
after dinner?"
"Yes," she agreed; "that will do very well.


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