But we’ve got the brains to get over that, and tongues in our heads to talk to each other. Missy looked like a troll with lipstick on. Many things were only words, sounds; she could not construct these words and sounds into objects; or, if she did, invariably missed the mark. She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home. Meantime the spinsters sought the dining room where tea was being served. ’ She shook her head. Drummond smoked his cigarette meditatively. Get on with it, then.
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