’ ‘Well, sir? Who is “she”? Not my granddaughter, I take it. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. “I suppose Paris is very, very distracting. I’m damaged goods. I saw her face and it was the face that had been hidden from me in dreams, a face very much like yours, Lucia. It was the first—and the last! At this juncture, the handle of the door was tried, and the voice of Mr. Once more breaking through the hedge he took to the fields. Then he slapped his hand on his desk and looked up with the air of a man struck by a brilliant idea. She had eaten them.
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