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WHEN I got back to the house there was a sliver of light between the black-out curtains of the drawing-room; as soon as I stood inside the hall I heard a woman's voice, Mrs Knight's, raised, sustained, unrelenting. The instant I entered the room, she stopped: there was a silence: she had been talking about me.
Mr Knight was sitting in an armchair by the fire, and she had drawn up the sofa so as to be beside him. Her eyes fixed on mine and did not budge, but his gazed into the fire. It was he who spoke.