" Pain was stabbing him, now here, now there; pain was real enough; but he could not establish as a fact in his throbbing brain the presence of his aunt in the doorway. He returned figuratively to his bed—the bed he had made for himself and in which he must for ever lie. She tucked her stick under her arm and re-read Manning’s letter. John, he was between me and the door. But you have, haven’t you?’ He tutted again.
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