13 with a latchkey went humming lightly up to her room. What of Gosse, whom those soldiers had allowed to escape? Hiding—or perhaps gone. She stood on the mat instead, and looked down on him. The spinster saw herself growing warm again in the morning sunshine of youth —a flaring ember before the hearth grew cold. She realized that with a pang of disgust and horror. Then he did give way a bit. We hide it bravely, but so it is. She hated the manor.
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