She cleaned everything, wiped every surface, mopped and scrubbed every last drop of blood. Mr. Have you ever heard the name of Meysey Hill?” “Meysey Hill?” He repeated it after her, and she knew at once from his tone and his quick glance into her face that the name possessed some significance for him. “You needn’t be worried,” she said quietly. Nothing but the publicity of the place and the recollection of that terrible constituency kept him from attempting some perfectly respectful but unmistakable evidence of his sympathy. Niece and aunt regarded each other for a moment over their pockethandkerchiefs with watery but antagonistic eyes, each far too profoundly moved to see the absurdity of the position. He turned to observe what this object was that had so unexpectedly diverted the young man's attention.
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