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Updated: May 1, 2025
And twice in the last three weeks Greatorex, by collusion with Alice, had arrived a whole hour before his time. Still, there was nothing in this circumstance itself to alarm the Vicar. Choir practice was choir practice, a mysterious thing he never interfered with, knowing himself to be unmusical. Rowcliffe had had good reason for refusing to urge Greatorex to marry Essy Gale.
Her one chance, and Ally knew it, was to cling. If she had once shamed him by her fastidious shrinking she would have lost him; for, as Mrs. Gale had told her long ago, you could do nothing with Jimmy when he was shamed. Maggie, for all her coarseness, had contrived to shame him; so had Essy in her freedom and her pride.
"I doan' keer. I doan' keer what 'appens to mae. What wae did what wae did lies between him and mae." "Did he tell you he'd marry you, Essy?" Essy sobbed for answer. "He didn't? Is he going to marry you?" "'Tisn' likely 'e'll marry mae. An' I'll not force him." "You think, perhaps, it doesn't matter?" She shook her head in utter helplessness. "Come, make a clean breast of it."
Then he remembered what he had been sent for. He turned his attention to Mrs. Gale. She was a square-set, blunt-featured woman of forty-five or so, who had once been comely like her daughter Essy. Now her soft chin had sagged; in her cheeks the stagnant blood crawled through a network of little veins, and the gloss had gone from her dark hair.
Of course the Essy I writ for the Social Science Society is a more finisheder production than the one on Cats, which was wroten when my mind was crood, and afore I had masterd a graceful and ellygant stile of composition.
Then you can catch it." "It'll be his fault anyway," said Alice. "Serve him jolly well right if I get pneumonia." "Pneumonia doesn't come to those who want it. I wonder what's wrong with Essy." Alice was tired and sullen. "You'd better ask Jim Greatorex," she said. "What do you mean, Ally?" But Ally had set her small face hard. "Can't you he sorry for her?" said Gwenda.
For it was there, at the turn of the road, below the arches, that he had meant to say what he had not said the other night. There was no moon. The moment was propitious. They met above the schoolhouse as the clock struck the quarter. "You're wanted, sir," said the blacksmith, "at Mrs. Gale's." "Is it Essy?" "Ay, it's Assy." In the cottage down by the beck Essy groaned and cried in her agony.
Her ponderous stamping could be heard going up the staircase and on the floor overhead. There was a sound as of drawers opening and shutting and of a heavy box being dragged from under the bed. Essy poured herself out a cup of tea, tried to drink it, choked and pushed it from her. She was still weeping when her mother came to her. Mrs. Gale came softly.
Gale had just cleared the table after her tea, had washed up the tea-things and was putting them away in the cupboard when Essy entered. She looked round sharply, inimically. Essy stood by the doorway, shamefaced. "Moother," she said softly, "I want to speaak to yo." Mrs.
Then the storm burst. She turned her tormented face to him. "A clane breast, yo' call it? I s'all mak' naw clane breasts, Mr. Cartaret, to yo' or anybody. I'll 'ave nawbody meddlin' between him an' mae!" "Then," said the Vicar, "I wash my hands of you." But he said it to an empty room. Essy had left him. In the outer room the three sisters sat silent and motionless.
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