"Here, put a bit of this soothing ointment on.

You should wear different collars." He went away on Sunday midnight, seeming better and more solid for his two days at home.
On Tuesday morning came a telegram from London that he was ill.

Mrs.
Morel got off her knees from washing the floor, read the telegram, called a neighbour, went to her landlady and borrowed a sovereign, put on her things, and set off.

She hurried to Keston, caught an express for London in Nottingham.

She had to wait in Nottingham nearly an hour.