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Updated: May 6, 2025
Nicholas slowed the car down for the winding of the road. It went now between long straight ramparts of hills that showed enormous and dark against a sky cleared to twilight by the unrisen moon. Other hills, round-topped, darker still and more enormous, stood piled up in front of them, blocking the head of Rathdale. Then the road went straight, and Nicholas was reckless.
He was faintly surprised. "What is it, then? Sit down and tell me." She sat down. They had Steven's table as a barrier between them. "You've been thinking of leaving Rathdale, haven't you?" she said. "I've been thinking of leaving it for the last seven years. But I haven't left it yet. I don't suppose I shall leave it now." "Even when you've got the chance?" "Even when I've got the chance."
Through all Garthdale and Rathdale, in the Manors and the Lodges and the Granges, in the farmhouses and the cottages, in the inns and little shops, there was a stir of pity and compassion. The people who had left off calling at the Vicarage called again with sympathy and kind inquiries. They were inclined to forget how impossible the Cartarets had been. They were sorry for Gwenda.
She had been shopping in the village. Mary, bowed forward as she struggled with an upward slope, was not aware of Gwenda. But Gwenda was aware of Mary, and, not being in the mood for her, she struck off the road on to the moor and descended upon Morfe by the steep lane that leads from Karva into Rathdale.
Harker asking if he had meant what he had said a year ago, and if he'd care to exchange his Rathdale practice for his old practice in Leeds. Harker's wife was threatened with lung trouble, and they would have to live in the country somewhere, and Harker himself wouldn't be sorry for the exchange. His present practice was worth twice what it had been ten years ago and it was growing.
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