On the way he confessed. She found herself mildly entertained by staring at the houses through the rain as she walked home, all cast in a gray blurry film noir gauze of rain. ‘The general himself?’ ‘How shall I get my inheritance if the general will believe that pig?’ ‘Do wish you wouldn’t keep on calling him a pig,’ Martha begged. “I tell my Mom everything. She resolved to walk across the Park to the Zoological gardens, and so on by way of Primrose Hill to Hampstead Heath. She felt that for a time at any rate her depressing struggle against continual failure was at an end. ‘What would you? The nuns they would not believe me, and so it was not possible for me to stay.
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