" And he pointed significantly to the hand. A faint gleam of returning colour gave her at once a more natural appearance. “It is the same man, Annabel,” she said. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise. We WERE thieves. But this is like—like walking round a house that looks square and complete and finding an unexpected long wing running out behind. She had looked up from her seat at the small round table in the centre of the parlour which, together with the wooden armchairs beside the small fireplace, and a sideboard next the single casement, was all the furniture the place afforded. She entered quietly and padded up to her shared bedroom. The back of the house had been the Alps for climbing, and the shrubs in front of it a Terai. Niece and aunt regarded each other for a moment over their pockethandkerchiefs with watery but antagonistic eyes, each far too profoundly moved to see the absurdity of the position. . He came to the door and as he opened it a crack, she pushed herself inside urgently.
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