‘And it is perhaps not so necessary that I do so, because Joan has told me of another who may like to say I am the daughter of Mary Remenham. My dear! we’ve had so many moments! I used to go over the times we’d had together, the things we’d said—like a rosary of beads. "Why did I want it under my pillow?" he asked. Would she ever find it? Sighing, she opened the door to the next room, and drew back the drapes. Pshaw!" added he, making an effort to subdue his emotion, "I can't leave you in this way.
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