’ Mrs Prudence Sindlesham, a widow of several years’ standing, so she told Gerald, was a scarecrow of a female, long and lank of limb in a figure that had once been willowy. ‘At me,’ she uttered, holding her own pistol high and aiming it steadily. Brown engaged in the usual browbeating and complaining he reserved for sections who came in late and soloists who left tempo behind like the leftovers of a Sunday picnic. The lips were straight and pale, the chin aggressive, the nose indomitable. Martin said “Hi” to her in the halls every day now, a sure sign of trouble. But, by Jove! it’s going to make our loving a fiercely abstract thing. Ah! I shall never forget the figure Jack cut on that occasion. Ennison slightly——” There was a dead silence in the little room.
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