’ It is the Press who find her out. He then spoke with a certain fatherly kindliness of the past. “Delicious!” she murmured. Niece and aunt regarded each other for a moment over their pockethandkerchiefs with watery but antagonistic eyes, each far too profoundly moved to see the absurdity of the position. The door opened. Her clock had stopped—stopped at the very hour on which she had quitted the Mint! She had not the heart to wind it up again. ‘Still—here? Wasting your—time.
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