“It is so difficult,” she murmured, “so impossible to explain. “Can I bring you anything, sir—a whisky and soda, or a liqueur? You’ll excuse me, sir, but you haven’t touched your coffee. He was always forgetting that his tummy was fifty-four years old. The crowner's 'quest sat on her yesterday—and if she hadn't been proved out of her mind, she would have been buried at four lane-ends. “But, my dear!” said Ann Veronica’s aunt. "What's that?" demanded McClintock.
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