Above the work-table was a drop-light—kerosene. He never said hello, as if it had become a personal taboo for him. ‘But you have told them that I have been disguised, no? That I have broken into Remenham House, and—’ ‘No, no, child, don’t be alarmed,’ said her great-aunt, her tone soothing. She was aware of it now as if it were a voice shouting outside a house, shouting passionate verities in a hot sunlight, a voice that cries while people talk insincerely in a darkened room and pretend not to hear. She looked down tassels of his shiny shoes with a scowl.
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