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Updated: May 10, 2025
They had turned their shoulders to each other, hostile in their misery. Gwenda was sorry for them. The gray road dipped and turned and plunged them to the bottom of Garthdale. The small, scattering lights of the village waited for her in the hollow, with something humble and sad and familiar in their setting. They too stung her with that poignant and secret sense of recognition.
If it had been suggested to her that he had got into this state because of Gwenda she would have dismissed the idea with contempt. She didn't worry about Rowcliffe's state. On the contrary, Rowcliffe's state was a consolation and a satisfaction to her for all that she had endured through Gwenda.
In the days when he was trying to find excuses for marrying Robina, it was in considering her connections that he found his finest. The Vicar had informed his conscience that he was marrying Robina because of what she could do for his three motherless daughters and himself. But to have planted Gwenda on Lady Frances Robina must have pulled all the wires she knew.
"And speaks like one," said Gwenda. "Yes; pommy word I don't know what's the world coming to!" "Very nice people those Vaughans, I should think," said Gwilym Morris, as he and Will tramped homewards in the evening.
There is, I am glad to say, very little dissent in the parish. You know I never liked dissent, but Gwenda is broader in her views, and wants to convert me to her way of thinking. Now this letter is really more a message from her than from me. She wants to know if you will have us at the farm for a week or a fortnight, when the spring is a little more advanced.
"I would like a cup of meth," said Gwenda; and as she drank the delicious sparkling beverage, Sara gazed at her with such evident interest that she was constrained to ask: "Why do you look at me so?" "Because I think I have seen you before," said the old woman. "Not likely," replied Gwenda, "unless in the streets at Castell On." "I have not been there for twenty years," said Sara.
"Oh it isn't very great, Papa. It's only that I'm going away." "Going away?" "I don't mean out of the country. Only to London." "Ha! Going to London " He rolled it ruminatingly on his tongue. "Well, if that's all you've come to say, it's very simple. You can't go." He bent his knees with the little self-liberating gesture that he had when he put his foot down. "But," said Gwenda, "I'm going."
She had thought of that. She was fond of having Gwenda with her in Rowcliffe's absence, when she could talk to her about him in a way that assumed his complete indifference to Gwenda and utter devotion to herself. Gwenda was used to this habit of Mary's and thought nothing of it. She found her in Rowcliffe's study, the room that she knew better than any other in his house. The window was closed.
But something had roused her this evening. A sort of scratching on the door made Gwenda look up from her packing. Ally stood on the threshold. She had dressed herself completely in her tweed skirt, white blouse and knitted tie. Her strength had failed her only in the struggle with her hair. The coil had fallen, and hung in a loose pigtail down her back.
To Gwenda it was as if her heart kept her hands off Rowcliffe's children, as if her flesh shrank from their flesh while her lips brushed theirs in tenderness and repulsion. But seeing them was always worse in anticipation than reality. For there was no trace of Rowcliffe in his children. The little red-haired, white-faced things were all Cartaret.
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