At the bottom of the trunk I found two of my mother's dresses. A single blanket constituted his sole covering at night. She slid her cheek down the tweed sleeve of his coat. . ’ Mrs Sindlesham’s alert glance found his. I suppose I was a little idiotic—I don’t think we either of us mentioned the future, but it was arranged that I should go the next afternoon and have tea with her. “Were you ever in love, aunt?” she asked. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment.
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