Her cheeks burned for a moment or two when she reached the street, although she held her head upright and walked blithely, even humming to herself fragments of an old French song. ‘You don’t know him. ‘I never met a rat what wandered about the place with a lantern, I didn’t,’ grumbled the old lodgekeeper aggrievedly. Wood the best of wives. He died when I was. I had dreamt of the olive grove beyond the courtyard I had once been fascinated 198 with as a boy. Hilary started after her, but Gerald stopped him.
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