That was an admission all right. The glass in the windows was broken—the roof unthatched—the walls dilapidated. Then she would be dead, and that was no use. “The truth!” It was a moment of awkwardness between the two sisters —a moment, too, charged with its own psychological interest, for there were secrets between them which for many months had made their intercourse a constrained and difficult thing. I loitered in the shop as you chatted with the butcher’s girl. She held up the lamp.
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