‘But I’m hanged if I know why you find it so amusing. ’ ‘Pottiswick, you mean, miss?’ ‘Yes, yes. They had been married for well over one hundred years. She knew the significance: the red corpuscle was being burnt out by the fires of alcohol. Some shadow of reserve seemed to have crept up between them. It was an oldfashioned peasant blouse, white, square necked, and trimmed with lace. “I throw it out in passing,” he said.
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