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. He was no Hoddy, but a tremendous man, with hairy arms and bearded face and drink-shattered intellect. “All the time he is shouting and muttering. It's only right that his people should know where he is and what has happened to him. My mother died the day I was born; that’s what they tell me. ‘Do that again,’ he said softly, ‘and I’ll make you sorry you ever came to England.
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