"I am glad you think that," she replied. There was an eerie sense of brooding menace about an uninhabited establishment. Long ago. A couple of gilt straight-backed chairs only. She thought of her aunt and that purse that was dropped on the table, and of many troublesome and ill-requited kindnesses; she thought of the help of the Widgetts, of Teddy’s admiration; she thought, with a new-born charity, of her father, of Manning’s conscientious unselfishness, of Miss Miniver’s devotion. At this gate two paths meet. The individual twist was always there, even in the cleverest forgeries.
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