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Benson, E. F. (Edward Frederic), 1867-1940

"Michael"

But I won't come
in if it would annoy you. I only thought I should like a little chat
with you, quietly, secure from interruptions."
Michael instantly got up from the chair in front of his fire, in which
he had already begun to see images of Sylvia. This intrusion of his
mother's was a thing utterly unprecedented, and somehow he at once
connected its innovation with the strange manner he had remarked
already. But there was complete cordiality in his welcome, and he
wheeled up a chair for her.
"But by all means come in, mother," he said. "I was not going to bed
yet."
Lady Ashbridge looked round for her maid.
"And will Petsy not annoy you if he sits quietly on my knee?" she asked.
"Of course not."
Lady Ashbridge took the dog.
"There, that is nice," she said. "I told them to see you had a good fire
on this cold night. Has it been very cold in London?"
This question had already been asked and answered twice, now for the
third time Michael admitted the severity of the weather.
"I hope you wrap up well," she said. "I should be sorry if you caught
cold, and so, I am sure, your father would be. I wish you could make up
your mind not to vex him any more, but go back into the Guards.


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