‘You said—who?’ ‘Remenham. ’ ‘It could hardly be less so,’ said Mrs Sindlesham tartly. On the Day he had trumpet-like outbreaks of cordiality, varied by a watchful preoccupation. Eventually her movements carried her to the little stand at the side of the bed. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget.
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