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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. Sir John, by instinct and training, was an unimaginative person. Not much. Seventeen hours, sixteen hours. It was long and narrow, a well-lit, wellventilated, quiet gallery of small tables and sinks, pervaded by a thin smell of methylated spirit and of a mitigated and sterilized organic decay. You shall have a house out at Balham or Sydenham, and two servants. When they made love, he seemed to shift into the realm of possessiveness. For the first time he seemed to wonder what it might be that she had to confess. A little love from him would be enough. " Silence.
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