The remainder of dinner was surreal and stilted. "Your son is a lad of spirit, Mr. ” “And no one else—has a key?” “I believe,” she said, “that that man must have one. A sinister thought edged in. Everybody seemed greatly concerned about the sincerity of Tolstoy. When her shock and the headache subsided, and she remembered that she had been reading the letter when Gosse had accosted her, she looked for it in vain.
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