Mr. She was vehemently impatient—she did not clearly know for what—to do, to be, to experience. She hugged Lucy, who had finished eating. "Don't ask me about it now. I’ve told them all that was necessary, but I— wanted to ask your pardon—for having made myself a nuisance to you, and for breaking into your rooms—and to thank you—the doctor says you bound up my wound—or I should have bled to death. It was you, of course, whom he wanted. ‘Jacques,’ she said, turning to the lad, and holding the habit out, ‘take this for me and leave it in the passage where we have left the lantern. "Yes; he'll suspect nothing.
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