“‘He's sleeping at Tory Lodge,’ said Mrs. Knox. ‘He's cubbing at Drumvoortneen, and he has to start early. He tried to torment me into allowing him to keep the hounds in the yard here this season, but I had the pleasure of telling him that old as I might be, I still retained possession of my hearing, my sense of smell, and, to a certain extent, of my wits.’
‘I should have thought,’ I said discreetly, ‘that Tory Lodge was more in the middle of his country.’
‘Undoubtedly,’ replied Flurry's grandmother; ‘but it is not in the middle of my straw, my meal, my buttermilk, my firewood, and anything else of mine that can be pilfered for the uses of a kennel!’ She concluded with a chuckle that might have been uttered by a scald-crow.” -Excerpt from "The Finger of Mrs. Knox"
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