Part 2 She found the younger generation of the Widgetts engaged in languid reminiscences, and all, as they expressed it, a “bit decayed. Still, something had marked the face, something had left an indelible touch. He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. Detention was merry for the other detainees. “It’s either now or never,” said Ann Veronica, again ascending this stile. She heard him crash against it, and turned the key in the lock. "My horses, Charcam," he said, as a servant appeared.
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