Sit down, won't you? It is good of you to have come."
The voice was a little more genial than it had been in the old days.
Nevertheless this was still the old Amy Warlock, stiff, masculine,
impenetrable.
"I hope your aunt is better," she said.
"My aunt is dead," answered Maggie.
"Dear me, I'm sorry to hear that. She was a good woman and did many
kind actions in her time."
There was something very unpleasant about that room, with the yellow
light, the hissing gas, and the immobile figure on the sofa. Maggie
looked in the direction of old Mrs. Warlock
"You needn't mind mother," said Amy Warlock. "For some time now
she's been completely paralysed. She can't speak or move. But she
likes to be downstairs, to see the world a bit. It's sad after the
way that she used to enjoy life. Father's death was a great shock to
her."
It was sad. Maggie remembered how fond she had been of her food.
Like a waxen image! Like a waxen image! The whole room was ghoulish
and unnatural.
"I've asked you to come and see me, Mrs. Trenchard," continued Miss
Warlock, "not because we can have any wish to meet, I am sure.
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