Evidently this was his aunt by adoption.
Over the ample midday meal that stood in readiness for him Stoner
was able to review the possibilities of his extraordinary
situation. The real Tom, after four years of absence, might
suddenly turn up at the farm, or a letter might come from him at
any moment. Again, in the character of heir to the farm, the
false Tom might be called on to sign documents, which would be an
embarrassing predicament. Or a relative might arrive who would
not imitate the aunt's attitude of aloofness. All these things
would mean ignominious exposure. On the other hand, the
alternative was the open sky and the muddy lanes that led down to
the sea. The farm offered him, at any rate, a temporary refuge
from destitution; farming was one of the many things he had
"tried," and he would be able to do a certain amount of work in
return for the hospitality to which he was so little entitled.
"Will you have cold pork for your supper," asked the hard-faded
maid, as she cleared the table, "or will you have it hotted up?"
"Hot, with onions," said Stoner. It was the only time in his life
that he had made a rapid decision. And as he gave the order he
knew that he meant to stay.
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