She sat, crouched together, by the corner of the hearthrug under the bookcase that supported the pig’s skull, and looked into the fire and up at Ann Veronica’s face, and let herself go. It may not be just, it may not be fair, but things are so. But when they were on their way out he whispered in Anna’s ear. “Which one?” “The one whose life you have been making a burden, who has been all the time shielding her sister. They heard his footsteps descending the stone staircase, growing fainter and fainter.
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