'As you to show yourself when I am here.'
'I should like to say that I came on purpose to see you, Mrs
Carter, but it wouldn't be true. I'm going out for an hour, so
that you can take possession of the other room if you like, Amy.'
'Going out?' said Amy, with a look of surprise.
'Nothing--nothing. I mustn't stay.'
He just inquired of Mrs Carter how her husband was, and withdrew.
The door of the flat was heard to close after him.
'Let us go into the study, then,' said Amy, again in rather a
cold voice.
On Reardon's desk were lying slips of blank paper. Edith,
approaching on tiptoe with what was partly make believe, partly
genuine, awe, looked at the literary apparatus, then turned with
a laugh to her friend.
'How delightful it must be to sit down and write about people one
has invented! Ever since I have known you and Mr Reardon I have
been tempted to try if I couldn't write a story.'
'Have you?'
'And I'm sure I don't know how you can resist the temptation. I
feel sure you could write books almost as clever as your
husband's.'
'I have no intention of trying.
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