” “I heard she was wanted for a murder. The wretch you confide in has sworn to hang you. What was to happen now? She turned to Roding quickly. It was for ever. And they pay her. My dear—I can call you that here, anyhow—I know that. But that other world, in spite of her resolute exclusion of it, was always looking round corners and peeping through chinks and crannies, and rustling and raiding into the order in which she chose to live, shining out of pictures at her, echoing in lyrics and music; it invaded her dreams, it wrote up broken and enigmatical sentences upon the passage walls of her mind. She enjoyed preparing the evening meals, the smells of potatoes roasting in the oven, the stink of onions in the pan, the crackle of chicken frying. The next hour makes, or mars you for ever.
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