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Updated: June 18, 2025
Poor girl, so white and so patient the young man will never come back never ... never ... ONION FRY. No; no one knew what Maggie was thinking. No one found out until Maggie had her second visitor, Miss Avies. When Martha opened the door to Miss Avies she was astonished. Miss Avies hadn't been near the house since old Warlock died.
Thurston, I hear, is having revival meetings up and down the country. Miss Avies, I believe, is with him. You remember Miss Pyncheon? She and many other regular attendants at the Chapel have left this neighbourhood. The Chapel is to be a cinematograph theatre, I believe. There! I have given you all the gossip.
"But don't you think," said Maggie, "that one can cure one's faults?" "One gets rid of one only to make room for another ... But that doesn't matter. The point is that one should have an ambition. What's your ambition, child?" Maggie didn't answer. Her ambition was Martin, but she couldn't tell Miss Avies so.
Maggie said, to break another of the long pauses that seemed to be always forming between them: "I think every one ought to earn their own living, don't you?" Miss Avies shook her head. "You're very young terribly young. I've got no advice to give you except to lead a healthy life somewhere away from these surroundings.
We're an unnatural lot here and you're a healthy young creature ... Have you got a lover?" Maggie smiled. "I've got a friend," she said. Miss Avies sighed. "That's more than I've got," she said. "Not that I've time for one," she added. She got up. "I won't wait for your aunt," she said, "I've left a note downstairs ... You clear out as soon as you can, that's my advice to you."
He looked more wandering than ever with his high white collar, his large spectacles, and his thin, dusty hair; the fire of some hidden, vital spirit burnt beneath those glasses, and his face was so kindly that she felt ashamed of herself for having avoided him so often. "Both the aunts are at Miss Avies'." she said. "Oh," he said, looking at her rather blankly.
Miss Avies brushed them aside. "It doesn't matter," she said. "You'll do as well even, it may be, better." A strange woman Miss Avies! Maggie had, of course, seen her at Chapel, but this was the first time that they had been alone together. Miss Avies was like a thin rod of black metal, erect and quivering and waiting to strike.
It had that result, at any rate, upon Maggie herself. She soon lost, however, consideration of Miss Avies in the wider observation of the Chapel and its congregation. It was, as it had been on the occasion of her first visit to it, stuffy, smelling of gas and brick and painted wood, ugly in its bareness and unresponsiveness and, nevertheless, exciting.
All the others his sister, Miss Avies, Thurston, Crashaw, the Miss Cardinals, yes, and his father too, were, in one way or another, eccentric, abnormal, but Miss Pyncheon was the sane every-day world, the worldly world, the world of drinks and dinners, and banks and tobacconists, and yet she believed as profoundly as any of them. What did she believe?
He sat, leaning forward a little, his red-brown hand on his knee, his leg bulging under the cloth of his trouser, his neck struggling behind his collar but his smile was pleasant and easy, he seemed perfectly at home. "My father wonders whether you will mind some friends of Miss Avies sitting with you in your pew to-morrow evening. She has especially asked two of them ... ladies, I believe.
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