“It was just an hour before teatime,” she remarked. “I’d run away with you in a heartbeat. Brendon was silent. She felt he was going to say something more—something still more personal and intimate. ‘No, I don’t see much future in pursuing her down this passage. Only he hated the words he uttered, hated the blunt honesty which forced them from his lips. On the next morning—Sunday—the day on which he expected his mother's funeral to take place, he set out along the Harrow Road. He had thought it might have that effect.
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