The Door by Magda Szabó:
We both stayed silent. Never had there been a more mysterious, more mute or inscrutable figure than hers that afternoon, with the dark descending and the branches beating on the windows. I sat down next to her, with the NO VISITORS sign in my hands.
“How many cats are left?” she finally asked, from behind her veil. Her voice was every bit as unreal as her invisible face.
At this stage it would make no difference.
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