‘But the major—’ ‘The major can say nothing at all. She drank and drank until his body was a lifeless husk, as light as a mannequin, virtually hollow of all but the fluid in his bones. “Idiotic, isn’t it?” “Absolutely,” she agreed coldly. He had done this a dozen times on the way from his office. He was a little impressed by Ann Veronica’s metaphor of the string, which, indeed, she owed to Hetty Widgett. She had never before heard the noise of firecrackers, and in the beginning the sputtering racket caused her to wince. His voice had broken.
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