“You are coming in, aren’t you, Sydney?” “If I may,” he answered. She lingered over donning her winter coat, buttoning each toggle and placket, double knotting her long scarf. The fact itself is regrettable enough—regrettable, I fear, is quite an inadequate word. For aught I know, they may be in the neighbourhood at this moment. She enjoyed preparing the evening meals, the smells of potatoes roasting in the oven, the stink of onions in the pan, the crackle of chicken frying.
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