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Updated: May 28, 2025
Did you or did you not go into the barn?" At that she cried out with a voice of anguish. "No No No!" But Mary had her knife ready and she drove it home. "Ally Ned Langstaff saw you." When Rowcliffe came back from Upthorne he found Alice cowering in a corner of the couch and crying out to her tormentors. "You brutes you brutes if Gwenda was here she wouldn't let you bully me!"
"Naw," said Jim Greatorex's kinswoman, "if you want Greatorex to sing for you as bad as all that, Miss Cartaret, you'd better speak to the doctor." Rowcliffe became suddenly grave. He watched the door. "He'd mebbe do it for him. He sats soom store by Dr. Rawcliffe." "But" Ally's voice sounded nearer "he's gone, hasn't he?" "Naw. But he's joost goin'. Shall I catch him?" "You might." Mrs.
Ally still kept her eyes shut. "Has Mary gone?" "Yes." "And Papa?" "Yes. Lie still." She lay still. There was the sound of wheels on the road. It brought Mary and the Vicar back into the room. The wheels stopped. The gate clanged. Rowcliffe rose. "That's Greatorex. I'll go to him." Ally lay very still now, still as a corpse, with closed eyes. The house door opened.
The diabolic thing raged through the shut house, knowing that it went unchallenged, that its utmost violence was licensed until the day after the concert. Rowcliffe heard it whenever he drove past the Vicarage on his way over the moors. He was annoyed with Gwendolen Cartaret.
And now they were sitting together in the drawing-room, in the breathing-space that came between the children's hour and dinner. Mary had sent the children back to the nursery a little earlier than usual. Rowcliffe had complained of headache. He was always complaining of headaches. They dated from his marriage, and more particularly from one night in June eight years ago.
"Can I see you for two minutes?" "Yes." They whispered rapidly. At the head of the stairs Mary waited. He turned. His smile acknowledged and paid deference to her sweetness and goodness, for Rowcliffe was sufficiently accomplished. But not more so than Mary Cartaret. Her face, wide and candid, quivered with subdued interrogation.
He was not angry. He had more than ever his air of wisdom and of patience. "Look here, Gwenda," he said gravely. "I know what I'm doing. There's nothing in the world the matter with her. But she'll never be well as long as you keep on sending for young Rowcliffe." But his daughter Gwendolen was not impressed. She knew what it meant that air of wisdom and of patience.
D'you know what Rowcliffe thinks of her?" "Yes. But I know a lot more about Ally than he does. So do you." "Well " They were sitting down to it now. "But I can't afford to keep you if you go away." "Of course you can't. You won't have to keep me. I'm going to keep myself." Again he stared. This was preposterous. "It's all right, Papa. It's all settled." "By whom?" "By me."
Then, with a heave of his great back and pushing with his powerful arms against the wall and stair rail, he loosened the shoulders of the coffin and bore it, steadied by Rowcliffe and the men, up the stair and into the room. They set it on its feet beside the bed, propped against the wall. And Jim Greatorex stood and stared at it. Rowcliffe went down into the kitchen, followed by Mrs. Gale.
Something's calling her across the sky, but the mist holds her and the wind beats her back look how she staggers and charges head-downward. She's fighting the wind. And she goes she goes!" "She doesn't go," said Rowcliffe. "At least you can't see her going, and the cloud isn't wrapped round her head, it's nowhere near her. And the wind isn't driving her, it's driving the cloud on.
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