'Yes,' she said. Then she turned her wonderful, forget-me-not blue eyes
up to her son, as she slowly sat down in the chair he had brought her.
'I came to ask you about your father,' she said, in her rapid,
scarcely-audible voice. 'I didn't know you had company.'
'No? Didn't Winifred tell you? Miss Brangwen stayed to dinner, to make
us a little more lively--'
Mrs Crich turned slowly round to Gudrun, and looked at her, but with
unseeing eyes.
'I'm afraid it would be no treat to her.' Then she turned again to her
son. 'Winifred tells me the doctor had something to say about your
father. What is it?'
'Only that the pulse is very weak--misses altogether a good many
times--so that he might not last the night out,' Gerald replied.
Mrs Crich sat perfectly impassive, as if she had not heard. Her bulk
seemed hunched in the chair, her fair hair hung slack over her ears.
But her skin was clear and fine, her hands, as she sat with them
forgotten and folded, were quite beautiful, full of potential energy.
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