‘Am I right in supposing you to have been a sister to the late Mr Jarvis Remenham?’ ‘Quite right. ” “I don’t care how we meet,” she said. At the door to the kitchen, he called out, ‘Pottiswick!’ The old man came out, shoving his chin in the air and glaring. The hand that had been clenched lay open, relaxed; and upon the palm he saw her mother's locket.
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