She wanted to return his gaze but focused intently on a spot next to and above the brick fireplace, as her music teachers had always taught her to do instead of looking directly at the audience. She pulled him down by his lapels and arched her head readily towards his neck. She turned up dead after about eight weeks and it broke my heart. She was a trained being—trained by an implacable mother to one end. From midnight until morning he was now left alone. A piece of seaweed touched her hand, tender and green. She carried herself well, whereas her brother slouched, and there was a certain aristocratic dignity about her that she had acquired through her long engagement to a curate of family, a scion of the Wiltshire Edmondshaws.
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