Winter grew more severe, there was snow at the end of November, deep enough to keep us confined to the house for almost a week. I resigned myself to the likelihood that Arthur would remain undiscovered for another few weeks at least and gave up hoping to be reunited with him by Christmas. “Did you love your brother very much?” Antonia asked me one morning. “Yes, of course.” “There is no ‘of course’ in it,” she replied. “Take Anthony and myself. We are very loving, but we were not always so. When we were children, we positively hated one another. Or so it seemed at the time.” "It cannot have been true. You are very happy together. Like a husband and wife.” She raised her eyes from the tapestry she had been working on. “You think so, do you?” I nodded. “Were your parents like that?
