There is the key. Stanley came home at a quarter to six—an earlier train by fifteen minutes than he affected—his sister met him in the hall with a hushed expression. He was going to tell me something— and he shut up. ‘Obsessed, that’s what you are. “Wonderful man!” said Ann Veronica, reassured, and stroking his cheek with her finger. “Loneliness,” she said, “is a luxury which I never permit myself. Above the housetops it was different. The idea of anything criminal never entered her thoughts.
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