The floor was bare and dirty; one of the window-panes
was broken and stuffed with a bundle of paper. There were a rusty
stove, a few dishes on the shelf, a kettle and a tin tea-pot. On the
window-sill by the bed were a medicine bottle and a cup.
"How do you do, Mrs. Murphy?" Ashe asked. "Are you any better to-day?"
"No better, thank yer riverince. I'll never be better again. My back is
broke, and the pain in me is like purgatory already."
The slatternly girl laid her paper on her knees, but she neither rose
nor spoke. To Maurice she seemed to have an air of contempt.
"I am sorry to hear it, Mrs. Murphy," said Ashe. "I thought that I
would drop in and ask after you."
Maurice involuntarily glanced at him, surprised by the indifference of
the tone. Enlightened by the passionate words which had been spoken
below, he could see that Philip was preoccupied, and gave to the sick
woman no more than the barest semblance of attention. Ashe
mechanically inquired about Mrs. Murphy's wants, his thin cheeks
glowing and his eyes wandering about the room. He was apparently
reacting the scene of the fight, and presently he made a step or two
backward, so that he stood near the middle of the chamber.
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