"Sergeant-Major Morris," he said, introducing him. White said, "Tut, tut!" and coughed gently as her husband entered the room, followed by a tall burly man, beady of eye and rubicund of visage. The new arrival also condoled with himself, so that Mrs. The old man rose with hospitable haste, and opening the door, was heard condoling with the new arrival. "There he is," said Herbert White, as the gate banged to loudly and heavy footsteps came toward the door. The words died away on his lips, and he hid a guilty grin in his thin grey beard. White looked up sharply, just in time to intercept a knowing glance between mother and son. "Never mind, dear," said his wife soothingly "perhaps you'll win the next one." I suppose because only two houses on the road are let, they think it doesn't matter." I don't know what people are thinking about. Pathway's a bog, and the road's a torrent. White, with sudden and unlooked-for violence "of all the beastly, slushy, out-of-the-way places to live in, this is the worst. "That's the worst of living so far out," bawled Mr. "I should hardly think that he'd come to-night," said his father, with his hand poised over the board. "I'm listening," said the latter, grimly surveying the board as he stretched out his hand. White, who, having seen a fatal mistake after it was too late, was amiably desirous of preventing his son from seeing it. Father and son were at chess, the former, who possessed ideas about the game involving radical changes, putting his king into such sharp and unnecessary perils that it even provoked comment from the white-haired old lady knitting placidly by the fire. Without, the night was cold and wet, but in the small parlour of Laburnam Villa the blinds were drawn and the fire burned brightly.
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