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“Progress,” said Lady Selina vaguely “Though it often see fixtures they have nowadays Every shade of colour and superb what they call ‘finish’—but do any of them really pull? Or push, when they’re that kind Every tio to a friend’s house, you find some kind of a notice in the loo—‘Press sharply and release,’ ‘Pull to the left,’ ‘Release quickly’ But in the old days, one just pulled up a handle any kind of way, and cataracts of water came at once—There’s the dear Bishop of Medmenham,” Lady Selina broke off to say, as a handsome, elderly cleric passed by “Practically quite blind, I believe But such a splendid militant priest”

A little clerical talk was indulged in, interspersed by lady Selina’s recognition of various friends and acquaintances, ht they were She and Miss Marple talked a little of “old days,” though Miss Marple’s upbringing, of course, had been quite different from Lady Selina’s, and their reminiscences were mainly confined to the few years when Lady Selina, a recentof severely straitened e of St Mary Mead during the time her second son had been stationed at an airfield nearby

“Do you always stay here when you come up, Jane? Odd I haven’t seen you here before”

“Oh no, indeed I couldn’t afford to, and anyway, I hardly ever leave hoht it would be a treat for irl—at least perhaps hardly a girl” Miss Marple reflected with a qualm that Joan must now be close on fifty “She is a painter, you know Quite a well-known painter Joan West She had an exhibition not long ago”

Lady Selina had little interest in painters, or indeed in anything artistic She regarded writers, artists andanient towards them, but to wonder privately why they wanted to do what they did

“This“There’s Cicely Longhurst—dyed her hair again, I see”

“I’m afraid dear Joan is rather modern”

Here Miss Marple was quite wrong Joan West had been arded by the young arriviste artists as completely old-fashioned

Casting a brief glance at Cicely Longhurst’s hair, Miss Marple relapsed into a pleasant remembrance of how kind Joan had been Joan had actually said to her husband, “I e could do soets away froo to Bournemouth for a week or two?”

“Good idea,” said Ray very well indeed, and he felt in a generous mood

“She enjoyed her trip to the West Indies, I think, though it was a pity she had to get e”

“That sort of thing seems to happen to her”

Ray treats for her, and sending her books that he thought ht interest her He was surprised when she often politely declined the treats, and though she always said the books were “so interesting” he sometimes suspected that she had not read the

In this last he rong Miss Marple had re in everything that was going on round her with keen interest and pleasure

To Joan’s proffer of a week or two at one of Bournemouth’s best hotels, she had hesitated, murmured, “It’s very, very kind of you, my dear, but I really don’t think—”

“But it’s good for you, Aunt Jane Good to get away fros to think about”

“Oh yes, you are quite right there, and I would like a little visit soe Not, perhaps, Bournemouth”

Joan was slightly surprised She had thought Bournemouth would have been Aunt Jane’s Mecca

“Eastbourne? Or Torquay?”

“What I would really like—” Miss Marple hesitated

“Yes?”

“I dare say you will think it rather silly of me”

“No, I’o?)

“I would really like to go to Bertram’s Hotel—in London”

“Bertrauely familiar