There was a murmur or two among the watchers on the bench, but no one ventured to intervene again. He looked at her guiltily. "My chickens are hatched, or, at least, nearly so," replied Shotbolt, with increased merriment. Occasionally the mere fact of lying in bed became unendurable, and she rolled out and marched about her room and whispered abuse of herself—usually until she hit against some article of furniture. Ann Veronica watched her face, vaguely sympathizing with her, vaguely disliking her physical insufficiency and her convulsive movements, and the fine eyebrows were knit with a faint perplexity. David left this afternoon.
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