CHAPTER TWENTY-SIXSid Turner found himself rather a fish out of water amongst all these people who were using Christian names and talking about their family affairs, and he didn’t like the feeling. In his own surroundings he was very much accustomed to playing the lead. Boys copied his shirts and ties and the way he had his suits cut, and girls waggled their eyelashes and their hips at him. He began to hate all these people, none of whom took any more notice of him than if he had been a bit of furniture.
And then all at once a voice was saying, ‘I am afraid that no one is looking after you, Mr. Turner.’ He looked round and saw the dowdy little woman who had driven back with them from the cemetery. He thought she seemed very much at home, offering him tea or coffee, or another drink if he
