They went into Michelle's tiny bedroom, bare except for a dresser, a closet, and a miniscule single bed that resembled her own at the Becks. “May I sit beside you?” “It’s a very difficult one,” said her aunt. “Do you happen to know whether she is supposed to be here?” “Very likely indeed,” Captain Fred Meddoes answered, lighting a cigarette. Mrs. “You’re not interested in politics?” he asked, almost with a note of protest. The flowers upon the mantel-shelf were withered and drooping—she had gathered them.
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