Her thin fingers were armed with nails as long as the talons of a bird. His anger gave way to grim humour and he thrust towards them, leaning heavily on his cane. “But I wish,” she said, “I had some idea what I was really up to. She was almost tempted to tell him, if only to see the cracks of surprise and incredulity break the immobility of his yellow countenance. She wished she had not stood up.
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