” She felt humiliated. “What nonsense is this? What raving! My dear child, you DO live, you DO exist! You have this home. Sir Cecil, who with Rowland and some others had entered the room rushed to the window with a torch. Blue haze had settled beyond the black silhouettes of trees, graduating to the deep violet that began the night sky. ‘You were supposed to be nursing him,’ Martha grumbled, ‘and helping him convalesce.
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