She thought that her nerves
were betraying her, as they had a way of doing since her husband's death.
Often when she fell asleep, there would come to her a strange and
horrible nightmare. It was such a queer, uncanny kind of dream for a
grown-up woman to have! She used to dream that she was a rat--and that
Colonel Crofton's own terrier, a fierce brute called Dandy, was after
her.
"That's Flick! Perhaps I'd better go and let him out?" Timmy jumped up
as he spoke. "I thought you didn't like dogs, Mrs. Crofton, and so I shut
Flick up in your stable-yard. I expect he's got bored, being in there
all by himself, in the dark!"
The boy's words brought delicious relief, and then, all at once, she
felt unreasonably angry. How stupid of this odious little fellow to have
brought his horrid, savage dog with him--after what had happened the
other night!
Timmy shot out of the room and so through the front door, and Radmore got
up too. "I'm afraid we ought to be going," he said.
His white-clad hostess came up close to him:--"It's so good of you to
have come to see me so soon," she murmured. "Though I do like Beechfield,
and the people here are awfully kind, I feel very forlorn, Mr.
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