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Walpole, Hugh, Sir, 1884-1941

"The Captives"


He moved past her without a word, and went into the other room. She
said nothing, but bent over the sausages. They were sizzling and
flung out a splendid smell.
He came back without his hat and coat. He stood by the bedroom door
and slowly looked round the room, taking everything in.
"I thought you'd have gone," he said; "I warned you."
She looked up at him, laughing:
"I haven't," she said. "Whatever happens afterwards, Martin, we may
as well have one meal together. I'm very hungry. I know you'll
forgive my using your room like this, but I didn't want to go to a
shop. So I just brought the things in here."
His eyes lighted on the hyacinth.
"I know what your game is," he said huskily. "But it isn't any good.
You may as well chuck it."
"All right," she said. "After we've had a meal."
Straightening herself up from the heat of the fire she had a
terrible temptation then to go to him. It overwhelmed her in a
flood; her knees and hands trembled. She wanted just to touch his
arm, to put her hand on his shoulder. But she knew that she must
not.
"Sit down for a bit," she said very quietly, "and let's have our
meal.


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