She spoke with fluent enthusiasm. ’ But I made sure it was you. She had begun to care about her appearance again, looking into the glass he gave her, a thing nearly priceless that was bordered in intricate golden filigree and rubies. She had carried a chair into the room veranda and had watched and listened until the night silences had lengthened and only occasionally she heard a voice or the rattle of rickshaw wheels in the courtyard. And like that gospel it meant something, something different from its phrases, something elusive, and yet something that in spite of the superficial incoherence of its phrasing, was largely essentially true. A man’s children nowadays are not his own. When she spoke, her lips twitched. "When in France, I heard from the Marshal that his brother had perished in London on the night of the Great Storm. “Are you sorry you waited, aunt?” she said. You may enjoy your pride, your arrogance—in a coffin. I did not know how he would act if I obstructed him.
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