For the first time he seemed to wonder what it might be that she had to confess. ‘I live in Kent. “Alice—Alice gone dotty, and all over kids. She, having all the confidence in the world, ripped off an end and drew out the contents—a letter and a check. . “The truth!” It was a moment of awkwardness between the two sisters —a moment, too, charged with its own psychological interest, for there were secrets between them which for many months had made their intercourse a constrained and difficult thing. I am certainly no ghost. Her anger died and she eyed him. That her husband was not touching her anymore grew to be like a disease, something to be cured. You can’t go. These things did not harmonize with his conception of the forthcoming (if unavoidable) interview.
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