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Updated: May 28, 2025
Rowcliffe's smile that had been reminiscent was now vague and obscurely speculative. "I ought to have let you go when you wanted to," she said. Rowcliffe looked down at the table. She sat leaning sideways against it; one thin arm was stretched out on it. The hand gripped the paper weight that he had pushed away. It was this hand, so tense and yet so helpless, that he was looking at.
The Vicar's sudden rigidity implied that Essy had no business to be happy. "If she is, it isn't your friend Greatorex's fault." "I'm not so sure of that," said Rowcliffe. "I suppose you know he has refused to marry her?" "I understood as much. But who asked him to?" "I did." "My dear sir, if you don't mind my saying so, I think you made a mistake if you want him to marry her. You know what he is."
She lay on her bed, and Rowcliffe and her sister stood on either side of her. She gazed from one to the other with eyes of terror and entreaty. It was as if she cried out to them the two who were so strong to help her. She stretched out her arms on the counterpane, one arm toward each of them; her little hands, palm-upward, implored them.
"I mean that I'm a little different from Alice." "Are you? Are you? When you're doing the same thing?" "Let me see. What was the dreadful thing that Ally did? She ran after young Rickards, didn't she? Well if you'd really seen us scampering you'd know that I'm generally running away from young Rowcliffe and that young Rowcliffe is generally running after me.
The act of knitting disposed her to long silences. It also occupied her, so that Rowcliffe, when he liked, could be silent too. But generally he talked and Mary listened. They hadn't many subjects. But Mary made the most of what they had. And she always knew the precise moment when Rowcliffe had ceased to be interested in any one of them. She knew, as if by instinct, all his moments.
And the impression made on Rowcliffe by the Vicarage was that of a house and a household rehabilitated after a long period of devastation, by the untiring, selfless labor of a woman who was good and sweet.
Harker was a wise chap to stick to it. It would do me all the good in the world if I went back." "Then," she said, "you'll have to go, Steven." She did not know, in her isolation, that Rowcliffe had been going about saying that sort of thing for the last seven years. She thought it was the formidable discovery of time. "You ought to go if you feel like that about it. Why don't you?"
Her eyes were dragged to the terror and the danger. So Ally reasoned in her Paradise. For when Rowcliffe was once gone her brain was frantically busy. It never gave her any rest. From the one stuff of its dreams it span an endless shining thread; from the one thread it wove an endless web of visions. From nothing at all it built up drama after drama.
And now, when intercourse was possible, it was they who had withdrawn. They shared Mr. Grierson's inability to make her out. They had heard rumors; they imagined things; they remembered also. She was the girl who had raced all over the country with Dr. Rowcliffe, the girl whom Dr. Rowcliffe, for all their racing, had not cared to marry.
"Do you mean," said Rowcliffe, surprised out of his reticence, "before this happened?" "Yes." "And she wouldn't have him?" "No. She was afraid of him." "She was afraid of him and yet " It was Mary who spoke now. "Yes, Mary. And yet she cared for him." The Vicar turned on her. "You're as bad as she is. How can you bring yourself to speak of it, if you're a modest girl?
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