He stood upon the threshold, dangling his eye-glasses in his fingers, stolid, imperturbable, mildly interrogative. Ovarian cancer. Anna raised her eyebrows at the sight of him. It is queer how ideas pop into one's head. That is my way, my dear. I will write to your major, and you will send the letter very quickly. Or become a thorough-going typist and stenographer and secretarial expert. There was a brief pause, a crowded pause, between them. ‘His granddaughter?’ ‘Yes, his son’s daughter. ’ She was backing across the room, moving towards the screen. I’d do anything, Vee. But her husband, whose deportment to her was considerably changed since the fatal knot had been tied, paid no attention whatever to her grief. Wild has done his business.
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