She looked at the suitcase sadly and stashed it underneath her bed. “I wonder,” he said, “if women do know things by instinct? I have my doubts about feminine instinct. “Do you think he’s still around?” She paused thoughtfully. “It’s funny, the way a good house feels. Hidden menace; a prescience of something dreadful about to happen. That will be a fine day—it will have to be, when first you set eyes on Italy. But not once in these ten years had they borne blossom or fruit. Lady Angela shrugged her shoulders.
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