I am your enemy, Canon Ronder, to the end, as you are
mine. You had better look to yourself. You have been concerned in certain
things that the Law may have something to say about. Look to yourself!
Look to yourself!"
He strode off down the Cloisters.
People came to luncheon; there had been an invitation of some weeks
before. He scarcely recognised them; one was Mr. Martin, another Dr.
Trudon, an old Mrs. Purley, a well-established widow, an ancient resident,
a Miss Barrester. He scarcely recognised them although he talked so
exactly in his accustomed way that no one noticed anything at all. Mrs.
Brandon also talked in her accustomed way; that is, she scarcely spoke.
Only that afternoon, at tea at the Dean's, Dr. Trudon confided to Julia
Preston that he could assure her that all the rumours were false; the
Archdeacon had never seemed better...funny for him afterwards to
remember!
Shadows of a shade! When they left Brandon it was as though they had never
been; the echo of their voices died away into the ticking of the clock,
the movement of plates, the shifting of chairs.
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