Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. There is no Heaven for your mother. ‘Don’t involve me in your lover’s tiff. She thought of the marvellous beauty of skin, and all the delightfulness of living texture. The fever came. There was a brief pause, a crowded pause, between them. It plucked shingles from the school building, threatening to shake them all loose one by one like rotting teeth.
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