Chapter VII MISS PELLISSIER’S SUSPICIONS “Anna!” Anna kissed her sister and nodded to her aunt. ’ ‘I don’t want to think it,’ he said, and she thrilled to the savagery in his tone. Spurlock had found the typewriter, oiled and cleaned it, and began to practise on it in the night. But it never said: "Tell someone! Tell someone!" Was he something of a moral pervert, then? Was it what he had lost—the familiar world—rather than what he had done? He stared dully at the footrail. ‘You see,’ he pursued blandly, ‘I lead a life of the most intolerable boredom.
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