In the midst of them there was a cart with a man in it—and that man was Jack—my son Jack—they were going to hang him. He came in apologetically; all the old “Well, and how ARE we?” note gone; and once he asked Ann Veronica, almost furtively, “How’s Alice getting on, Vee?” Finally, on the Day, he appeared like his old professional self transfigured, in the most beautiful light gray trousers Ann Veronica had ever seen and a new shiny silk hat with a most becoming roll. She dropped a flower—it’s in my pocket-book now. ‘If you had met her, you’d understand. 6 Chiu Ping le, Chiu Yam Street. “It is a night of endings,” she murmured to herself.
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