Chapter 14

           LongbeforeIcameuptothegateoutofBourani,Isawsomethingwhitishlyinginthegap.AtfirstIthoughtitwasahandkerchief,butwhenIstoopedtopickitupIsawitwasacream-coloredglove;andofallgloves,anelbow-lengthwoman’sglove.Insidethewristwasayellowishlabel,withthewordsMireille,gantiêreembroideredonitinbluesilk.Thelabel,liketheglove,seemedunreasonablyold,somethingfromthebottomofalong-storedtrunk.Ismeltit,andthereitwas,thatsamescentasonthetoweltheweekbeforemusky,old-fashionedlikesandalwood.WhenConchishadsaidthathe’dbeendownonMoutsatheweekbefore,ithadbeenthisonefact,thesweetwomanishperfume,thathadpuzzledme.NowIbegantounderstandwhyhemightnotwantunexpectedvisits,orgossip.Whyheshouldwanttoriskhissecretwithme,perhaps,nextweek,letmeknowit,Icouldn’timagine;whattheladywasdoingoutinAscotgloves,Icouldn’timagine;andwhoshewas,Icouldn’timagine.Shemightbeamistress,butshemightequallywellbeadaughter,awife,asisterperhapssomeoneweakminded,perhapssomeoneelderly.ItflashedthroughmymindthatitwassomeonewhowasallowedoutinthegroundsofBouranianddownatMoutsaonlyonpainofkeepingherselfconcealed.Shewouldhaveseenmetheweekbefore;andthistime,haveheardmyarrivalandtriedtocatchaglimpseofmethatexplainedtheoldman’squicklookspastme,andperhapssomeofhisnervousstrangeness.

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