"Apologies are futile things.
This is something that will be of some use and real value to Miss King.
It's the end of a novel."
"What are you talking about?"
"I've always understood," said Meldon, "that the last few paragraphs of
a novel are by far the most difficult part to write. Now that I've
found out what Miss King's art really is, I think the best thing I can
do, by way of making amends for my unfortunate mistake, is to hand over
to her the conclusion of a novel, ready written. I've been at it ever
since you went to bed. Here it is. I'll just read it out to you, and
then you can give it to her with my compliments to-morrow morning."
"'The evening closed slowly, a glory still lingering on the shining
waters of the bay, as if day were indeed loth to leave the scene it had
found so fair. A solitary figure breasted the long hill above the
little town, striding steadily along the grey road, which wound
eastwards into the gloom.'"
"It may perhaps be better to mention to you, Major, though Miss King
will recognise the fact at once for herself, that the solitary figure
is Simpkins."
"'At the crown of the hill, just where the road begins to dip again, at
the spot where the last view of the town and the bay is obtained, the
lonely traveller paused.
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