"Let the dead bury his dead." "Is he dead, then ?" "Before the Squire married again," said the doctor, "the poor boy went straight to the dogs, and they made an end of him.

There! let's talk of something else.

I don't know why I tell you what has never passed my lips for twenty years." "I wish you hadn't," said Mr Armstrong shortly, whipping up his horses.
The two men remained silent during most of that cold, laborious journey.
The doctor's few attempts at conversation fell flat, and he took refuge finally in his pipe.

As for the tutor, he had his hands full, steering his team between the lane-side ditches, and thinking of the wrecked life that lay waiting at the journey's end.
It was nearly ten o'clock before the dim lights of Maxfield Manor showed ahead.

The snow on the home-drive was undisturbed by the wheels of any other vehicle.