"
"I never have."
She smiled. "But I have," she said significantly, "so, if you consider
what the various occupants of this house have so strongly held and
thought and believed, you need not be surprised that the influence they
have left behind them should be a dark and dreadful legacy. For thought,
you know, does leave--"
The opening of the door, to my great relief, interrupted her, as the
Grenadier led in the visitor to see the room. He bowed to both of us
with a brief word of apology, looked round him, and withdrew, and with
his departure the conversation between us came naturally to an end. I
followed him out. Neither of us in any case, I think, cared to argue
further.
And, so far as I am aware, the curious history of The Towers ends here
too. There was no climax in the story sense. Nothing ever really
happened. We left next morning for London. I only know that the Society
in question took the house and have since occupied it to their entire
satisfaction, and that Mabel, who became a member shortly afterwards,
now stays there frequently when in need of repose from the arduous and
unselfish labors she took upon herself under its aegis. She dined with
us only the other night, here in our tiny Chelsea flat, and a jollier,
saner, more interesting and happy guest I could hardly wish for.
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