There was a maiden aunt who lived in the North who might let her live there for a few weeks until she disappeared. Returning to Mrs Sindlesham’s chair, he held up the miniature so the face depicted there was turned towards the old lady. Something in his smile, in the cynical suggestiveness of his deferential tone, maddened her. ‘Troops?’ ‘Go, man,’ urged the major in an undervoice. In all this world there was no sacred ground that said to her: Return! She was of all human beings the most lonely. A male voice, vibrant with terror, yelled out hoarsely. I believe that I have heard my sister speak of you.
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