A home MAY be a sort of cage, but still—it’s a home. The tears were streaming down her face, her voice was thick with sobs. I am certainly no ghost. If my Mom found out, she’d kill me. “You were married to him!” “It could not be legal,” Annabel moaned. The study seemed absolutely unaltered, there was still the same lamp with a little chip out of the shade, still the same gas fire, still the same bundle of blue and white papers, it seemed, with the same pink tape about them, at the elbow of the arm-chair, still the same father. She got up and unlocked the door.
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