The reports of Mr. Fairlie's
health were just as usual, and when I sent up a message to
announce my arrival, I was told that he would be delighted to see
me the next morning but that the sudden news of my appearance had
prostrated him with palpitations for the rest of the evening. The
wind howled dismally all night, and strange cracking and groaning
noises sounded here, there, and everywhere in the empty house. I
slept as wretchedly as possible, and got up in a mighty bad humour
to breakfast by myself the next morning.
At ten o'clock I was conducted to Mr. Fairlie's apartments. He
was in his usual room, his usual chair, and his usual aggravating
state of mind and body. When I went in, his valet was standing
before him, holding up for inspection a heavy volume of etchings,
as long and as broad as my office writing-desk. The miserable
foreigner grinned in the most abject manner, and looked ready to
drop with fatigue, while his master composedly turned over the
etchings, and brought their hidden beauties to light with the help
of a magnifying glass.
"You very best of good old friends," said Mr. Fairlie, leaning
back lazily before he could look at me, "are you QUITE well? How
nice of you to come here and see me in my solitude.
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