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presently perceived, with a glow of surprise and gratification, of all
the miracles they would presently do. "And, by the bye, Mr. Maydig,"
said Mr. Fotheringay, "I might perhaps be able to help you--in a
domestic way."
"
Don't quite follow," said Mr. Maydig pouring out a glass of miraculous
old Burgundy.
Mr. Fotheringay helped himself to a second Welsh rarebit out of vacancy,
and took a mouthful. "I was thinking," he said, "I might be able (chum,
chum) to work (chum, chum) a miracle with Mrs. Minchin (chum,
chum)--make her a better woman."
Mr. Maydig put down the glass and looked doubtful. "She's---- She
strongly objects to interference, you know, Mr. Fotheringay. And--as a
matter of fact--it's well past eleven and she's probably in bed and
asleep. Do you think, on the whole----"
Mr. Fotheringay considered these objections. "I don't see that it
shouldn't be done in her sleep."
For a time Mr. Maydig opposed the idea, and then he yielded. Mr.
Fotheringay issued his orders, and a little less at their ease, perhaps,
the two gentlemen proceeded with their repast. Mr. Maydig was enlarging
on the changes he might expect in his housekeeper next day, with an
optimism that seemed even to Mr. Fotheringay's supper senses a little
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