Her sister Alice seemed to have developed a religious sense away there in Yorkshire, and made appeals that had no meaning for Ann Veronica’s mind. As though it was indelicate—it’s just a sort of shyness. He was all alone, like herself. The business of serving gave Gerald a few moment’s grace, for he was dubious about the effect on an elderly female, not in the best of health, of raking up old memories. "He's not my son," rejoined the carpenter.
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