They went on talking in the train—it seemed to her father a slight want of deference to him—and he listened and pretended to read the Times. She found herself mildly entertained by staring at the houses through the rain as she walked home, all cast in a gray blurry film noir gauze of rain. So far as the eye could reach, the white level road, with its fringe of elm-trees, was empty. It was that somebody had cheated you. "It's Mrs. E below.
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