Her thought spoke aloud. The road from Surbiton and Epsom ran under the arch, and, like a bright fungoid growth in the ditch, there was now appearing a sort of fourth estate of little redand-white rough-cast villas, with meretricious gables and very brassy windowblinds. Her features were meagre, and ghastly white, and had the fixed and horrible stamp of insanity. “Don’t you understand? It is I whom you cared for in Paris, not Anna. ” “I suppose,” Ennison said, “the likeness between the sisters must be rather exceptional?” “I never saw the goody-goody one close to, so I can’t say,” Drummond answered. For a long time he stared at the empty doorway. ‘I lived with the Valades for some years. . She felt much better. Each one had been different from the others, each had had a quality all its own, a distinctive freshness, a distinctive beauty. She glanced at him and made a dismissive gesture.
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