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Thackeray, William Makepeace, 1811-1863

"The Best British Short Stories of 1922"

"Is it much?"
He nodded.
"Who told you?" He got suddenly very angry; a darkish red came into his
cheeks, his eyes glistened, but he made no answer, and we loitered
listlessly about the garden until it was time for tea....
Seaton's aunt was wearing an extraordinary kind of lace jacket when we
sidled sheepishly into the drawing-room together. She greeted me with a
heavy and protracted smile, and bade me bring a chair close to the
little table.
"I hope Arthur has made you feel at home," she said as she handed me my
cup in her crooked hand. "He don't talk much to me; but then I'm an old
woman. You must come again, Wither, and draw him out of his shell. You
old snail!" She wagged her head at Seaton, who sat munching cake and
watching her intently.
"And we must correspond, perhaps." She nearly shut her eyes at me. "You
must write and tell me everything behind the creature's back." I
confess I found her rather disquieting company. The evening drew on.
Lamps were brought by a man with a nondescript face and very quiet
footsteps. Seaton was told to bring out the chess-men.


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