CHAPTER ELEVENIncredible
At half-past eight on Sunday evening Rena Austen rang the bell of the Austen house and stepped forward into the vestibule. Her gloveless hands were clasped tightly together at her waistline; her eyes were fixed on the ground-glass pattern in front of them as if to imprint every leaf and every flower on her mind for all time.
Norah opened the door and stood there transfixed, as Rena seemed to be. The two looked at each other silently until Norah found words:
“So you’re back. I might better shut the door in your face.”
“I came for some of my things, Norah.”
“I’ll bet you did.”
“Let me in, please.”
“Not till I have me orders.”
Jerome Austen spoke from the dark entrance to the drawing-room on the right: “Why Norah, I’m amazed at you. Let Mrs. Austen in.”
Norah
