Once again, Mr. Fish and I are on our way to the Female Mission to help Miss Pigot put together the prize lists. When Miss Smail came, I thought she’d take it over. Pity she and Miss Pigot couldn’t work together. It’s a warm ride in the gharry. At home, March comes in like a lion and out like a lamb. Here, March comes on like a slow fire. Another week, and we’ll have the humidity. Mr. Fish and I don’t have much to say to each other. His increasing collegiality with Mr. Hastie makes me uncomfortable. I get the feeling he reports our conversations.
“So, Mr. Wilson, what do you think about this business with Miss Smail?” Mr. Fish suddenly asks.
“I don’t think anything,” I reply. “Matters at the Female Mission aren’t our concern.”
“If that were true, we wouldn’t be on our way to provide assistance. I agree with Mr. Hastie. We should let Miss Pigot get on with things without our participation. She shouldn’t have dismissed Miss Smail,” Mr. Fish says.
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