Two or three of them were from the High and Mighty of the Military Hierarchy.

She was in such a twitter of joy that she almost forgot her anxiety as to his wounds.
"Do you think he knows?
I telegraphed to him at once." "So did I." She glanced at the ormolu clock on the mantelpiece.
"How long would it take for a telegram to reach him ?" "You may be sure he has it by now," said I, "and it has given him a prodigious appetite for lunch." Her face clouded over.

"That horrid tinned stuff.

It's so dangerous.

I remember once Mary's aunt--or was it Cook's aunt--one of them any way--nearly died of eating tinned lobster--ptomaine poisoning.