"How can I thank you!" she whispered.
"What for?" asked Carl, with laconic gloom.
"For having saved my darling!" said Mrs Ebag. And there was passion in
her voice.
"Oh!" said Carl. "It was nothing!"
"Nothing?" Mrs Ebag repeated after him, with melting eyes, as if to
imply that, instead of being nothing, it was everything; as if to imply
that his deed must rank hereafter with the most splendid deeds of
antiquity; as if to imply that the whole affair was beyond words to
utter or gratitude to repay.
And in fact Carl himself was moved. You cannot fall from the roof of a
two-story house into a very high-class rhododendron bush, carrying a
prize cat in your arms, without being a bit shaken. And Carl was a bit
shaken, not merely physically, but morally and spiritually. He could not
deny to himself that he had after all done something rather wondrous,
which ought to be celebrated in sounding verse. He felt that he was in
an atmosphere far removed from the commonplace.
He dripped steadily on to the carpet.
"You know how dear my cat was to me," proceeded Mrs Ebag. "And you
risked your life to spare me the pain of his suffering, perhaps his
death.
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