The wound lay open for five seconds, and then closed neatly as if it had been stitched by invisible hands. “How’d you know it was me?” He looked conspiratorially into the room for hidden informants. He flung open the door and cast a quick glance round. Stanley came home at a quarter to six—an earlier train by fifteen minutes than he affected—his sister met him in the hall with a hushed expression. Then, her body still tense with the atoms of anger, she sat down upon the edge of the bed and rocked from side to side. Now, it was a wilderness of weeds. Heard voices.
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