He was a thin old man, a wreck in a ruined body, but nothing would induce him to stand in any other way than as stiffly erect as possible like the soldier he had always been, even though he was obliged to lean on his silver-handled cane to do so. The colour slowly left her cheeks, the lines of her mouth hardened. Her safety lay in pretense—that what she saw was as a tale twice told. No one had lived here since old man Remenham had died some eighteen months ago, for the heir, so it was rumoured, was a relative with property of his own. “My sister and I,” she said slowly, “have seen very little of each other lately.
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