"There will be no fear of accidents at North Shingles," she said. "I
shall keep the bottle locked up in my dressing-case. If it doesn't
relieve the pain, I must come to you again, and try some other remedy.
Good-morning."
"Good-morning, miss."
She went straight back to the house without once looking up, without
noticing any one who passed her. She brushed by Mrs. Wragge in the
passage as she might have brushed by a piece of furniture. She
ascended the stairs, and caught her foot twice in her dress, from sheer
inattention to the common precaution of holding it up. The trivial daily
interests of life had lost their hold on her already.
In the privacy of her own room, she took the bottle from its wrapping,
and threw the paper and the cotton wool into the fire-place. At the
moment when she did this there was a knock at the door. She hid the
little bottle, and looked up impatiently. Mrs. Wragge came into the
room.
"Have you got something for your toothache, my dear?"
"Yes."
"Can I do anything to help you?"
"No."
Mrs. Wragge still lingered uneasily near the door. Her manner showed
plainly that she had something more to say.
"What is it?" asked Magdalen, sharply.
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