1. No one had lived here since old man Remenham had died some eighteen months ago, for the heir, so it was rumoured, was a relative with property of his own. He was the true optimist; and that he should proceed, serenely unconscious of reefs and storms, she accepted the double buffets. He smiled tenderly. “For one thing, Anna,” she remarked, “we had not the slightest idea that you had left, or were leaving Paris. Corbet Kynaston, then? Sir John Packington's courier was here yesterday. After all, that was life. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness.
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