I wrenched this off, and in an envelope addressed to me in faded ink, I found the locket and the pearls. I don’t want to know. But I know very well that that word will never be spoken. He was draining a glass, and as he set it down he shuddered. ‘There are no Remenhams left. “I cannot thank you, Sir John,” she said. . Nothing anyone could say or do would change him. He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn.
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