The brown house, almost exactly the same as the Beck’s, turned black as pitch in the gloom. It was an unspoken curfew in the Beck house on week nights. ‘Am I right in supposing you to have been a sister to the late Mr Jarvis Remenham?’ ‘Quite right. “Forgive me,” he said, “but I want to hear it from your sister. She was surprised at his modesty.
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