"I'm afraid we'll have to dig into his trunk," he said. “Why, what is the matter with you? What do you mean?” Annabel laughed scornfully. “About my sister,” she repeated slowly. With a cry of distress, she dropped the pistol and flew after him, racing past him to the door. Soup would help you feel better, soup and hot tea. And experience was slow in coming. She thought of her aunt and that purse that was dropped on the table, and of many troublesome and ill-requited kindnesses; she thought of the help of the Widgetts, of Teddy’s admiration; she thought, with a new-born charity, of her father, of Manning’s conscientious unselfishness, of Miss Miniver’s devotion. It isn't as if he were stricken with typhoid or pneumonia or something like that.
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