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Walpole, Hugh, Sir, 1884-1941

"The Cathedral"


"You're not to be involved in this. At least I can do that much--keep you
out of it."
"How is he going to live, then?"
"He talks about writing. He's utterly confident, of course. He always has
been. Looking back now, I despise myself for ever imagining that _I_
was of any use to him. I see now that he never needed me--never at all."
Suddenly she looked across at him sharply.
"How is your sister-in-law?" His colour rose.
"My sister-in-law?"
"Yes."
"She isn't well."
"What--?"
"It's hard to say. The doctor looked at her and said she needed quiet and
must go to the sea. It's her nerves."
"Her nerves?"
"Yes, they got very queer. She's been sleeping badly."
"You quarrelled."
"She and I?--yes."
"What about?"
"Oh, I don't know. She's getting a little too much for me, I think."
She looked him in the face.
"No, you know it isn't that. You quarrelled about me."
He said nothing.
"You quarrelled about me," she repeated. "She always disliked me from the
beginning."
"No."
"Oh, yes, she did. Of course I saw that. She was jealous of me.


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