The rector's bronchitis is intensified to a dangerous extent.

Sabina Gallagher's red-haired cousin, whose name I've not yet been able to discover, is perfectly miserable.

Poor old Callaghan, who means well, though he has a most puritanical dread of impropriety, is worn to a shadow.

It rests with you whether this state of things is to continue or not.

You and, so far as I can see at present, you alone, are in a position to arrange for the downfall of Simpkins.