She wondered who the girl might belong to as she patted dirt over the shallow grave. She had just passed into a little antechamber beyond when she suddenly heard a faint knocking. Once in the room, the door locked, the sense of loneliness had dropped away from her as the mists used to drop away from the mountain in the morning. And Capes was thinking that his wife was a supremely beautiful woman. ‘We was of an age, you see, miss. Each manuscript was like the other: the same lovely treatment of an unlovely subject.
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