“How could you do this to me?” Miss Arkwright lowered her head, for her eyes were reddening. “I know,” she said. “Don’t tell me. I’ve already had Mr Sweeting on the phone. He told me.” “Did he tell you it was a criminal offence to make false claims for your clients?” Miss Arkwright nodded, and fumbled in the sleeve of her apple-green angora jersey for a handkerchief. She could not speak, so Mrs French took over. “He laughed at Phoebe, that was the worst of it. If he had been angry, she could hav...e given him back as good as he gave. You don’t know Phoebe when her dander’s up. But he laughed at her.” She raised her voice to where Jessie was typing listlessly in the little closet. “Tea’s wanted here!” she called, like a ward sister calling a nurse for emergency coramine. Ben tried to explain to them that Mr Sweeting had been sympathetically amused, but they would not be comforted. They had believed so firmly that Ben would come whistling back to them with the job in his pocket that their second-floor world was temporarily at a standstill.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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