Further on, there was a small chandler's shop, where Jack observed an old woman seated at the counter, attended by a little girl. Mr. Her feathered hat fell from her head and down her back, and she felt fingers writhing in the mass of her hair and caressing the flesh of her neck beneath so that she shivered uncontrollably. ‘She would not tell me. Perhaps it was loneliness. ” “And no one else—has a key?” “I believe,” she said, “that that man must have one.
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