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Chapter 5

           TherewasMinta,wreathed,tinted,garishonthestairsaboutthreeo’clockinthemorning.Paulcameoutinhispyjamascarryingapokerincaseofburglars.Mintawaseatingasandwich,standinghalf-wayupbyawindow,inthecadaverousearlymorninglight,andthecarpethadaholeinit.Butwhatdidtheysay?Lilyaskedherself,asifbylookingshecouldhearthem.Mintawentoneatinghersandwich,annoyingly,whilehespokesomethingviolent,abusingher,inamuttersoasnottowakethechildren,thetwolittleboys.Hewaswithered,drawn;sheflamboyant,careless.Forthingshadworkedlooseafterthefirstyearorso;themarriagehadturnedoutratherbadly.

           Andthis,Lilythought,takingthegreenpaintonherbrush,thismakingupscenesaboutthem,iswhatwecall"knowing"people,"thinking"ofthem,"beingfond"ofthem!Notawordofitwastrue;shehadmadeitup;butitwaswhatsheknewthembyallthesame.Shewentontunnellingherwayintoherpicture,intothepast.

           Anothertime,Paulsaidhe"playedchessincoffee-houses."Shehadbuiltupawholestructureofimaginationonthatsayingtoo.Sherememberedhow,ashesaidit,shethoughthowheranguptheservant,andshesaid,"Mrs.Rayley’sout,sir,"andhedecidedthathewouldnotcomehomeeither.

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