You were content, and I came to thrive on your happiness. There are times when you make me feel a little thing at your feet—a young, silly, protected thing. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. The perception of him flooded her being. “I wouldn’t have been without this trip for worlds. ’ *** Mrs Chalkney, a long-time friend of the late Mrs Alderley, had been delighted to oblige that lady’s son.
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