She could tell that he was furious in that instant. In between naps she increasingly found herself gazing at him, his large nose, his eyes circled in silvery plum shadows, his thin lips parted as he slept baring a rim of perfect teeth. She raised this with the air of a conspirator unmasking, and displayed a tear-flushed face. If Miss Charvill should take it into her head to dash off on some foolish errand, go with her by all means. She evolved a dim image of herself cooped up in a house under the benevolent shadow of Mr. “I wonder,” she said, “why one writes him sentences like that? It’ll have to go,” she decided, “I’ve written too many already. Wagstaff. ‘Don’t concern yourself, Hilary.
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