‘Oh, Mr Stevens,’ she said upon our entry, ‘he’s gone very poorly.’ Indeed, my father’s face had gone a dull reddish colour, like no colour I had seen on a living being. I heard Miss Kenton say softly behind me: ‘His pulse is very weak.’ I gazed at my father for a moment, touched his forehead slightly, then withdrew my hand. ‘In my opinion,’ Mrs Mortimer said, ‘he’s suffered a stroke. I’ve seen two in my time and I think he’s suffered a stroke.’ With that, she began to cry. I noticed she reeked powerfully of fat and roast cooking. I turned away and said to Miss Kenton: ‘This is most
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