“It will worret you to death, Lucy; that I can see,” said Mr. Vincy, more mildly. “However, Wrench shall know what I think of the matter.” (What Mr. Vincy thought confusedly was, that the fever might somehow have been hindered if Wrench had shown the proper solicitude about his⁠—the Mayor’s⁠—family.) “I’m the last man to give in to the cry about new doctors, or new parsons either⁠—whether they’re Bulstrode’s men or not. But Wrench shall know what I think, take it as he will.”