Poverty can't rob me of those memories. I have lived
in an ideal world that was not deceitful, a world which seems to
me, when I recall it, beyond the human sphere, bathed in diviner
light.'
It was four or five days after this that Reardon, on going to his
work in City Road, found a note from Carter. It requested him to
call at the main hospital at half-past eleven the next morning.
He supposed the appointment had something to do with his business
at Croydon, whither he had been in the mean time. Some
unfavourable news, perhaps; any misfortune was likely.
He answered the summons punctually, and on entering the general
office was requested by the clerk to wait in Mr Carter's private
room; the secretary had not yet arrived. His waiting lasted some
ten minutes, then the door opened and admitted, not Carter, but
Mrs Edmund Yule.
Reardon stood up in perturbation. He was anything but prepared,
or disposed, for an interview with this lady. She came towards
him with hand extended and a countenance of suave friendliness.
'I doubted whether you would see me if I let you know,' she said.
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