Edith was growing to like her more and more. In a house where Bruce
lived it was certainly a wonderful help to have a third person often
present--if it was the right person. The absurd irritations and scenes
of fault-finding that she had become inured to, but which were always
trying, were now shorter, milder, or given up altogether. Bruce's temper
was perennially good, and got better. Then the constant illnesses that
he used to suffer from--he was unable to pass the military examination
and go to the front on account of a neurotic heart--these illnesses were
either omitted entirely or talked over with Madame Frabelle, whose
advice turned out more successful than that of a dozen specialists.
'An extraordinary woman she is, you know, Edith,' he said. 'You know
that really peculiar feeling I sometimes have?'
'Which, dear?'
'You know that sort of emptiness in the feet, and heaviness in the head,
and that curious kind of twitching of the eyelids that I get?'
'Yes, I know. Well, dear?'
'Well, Madame Frabelle has given me a complete cure for it. It seems her
husband (by the way, what a brute he must have been, and what a life
that poor woman led! However, never mind that now) had something very
much of the same kind, only not quite so bad.
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