He had made, upon this last and fatal occasion, haste
to find his collar because the bell had begun its Evensong clatter
and he did not wish to-night to be late. The bell continued to ring
and he lay his broad widespread length upon the floor. He was a
large and dirty man.
The shabby old house was occupied with its customary life. Down in
the kitchen Ellen the cook was snatching a moment from her labours
to drink a cup of tea. She sat at the deal table, her full bosom
pressed by the boards, her saucer balanced on her hand; she blew,
with little heaving pants, at her tea to cool it. Her thoughts were
with a new hat and some red roses with which she would trim it; she
looked out with little shivers of content at the falling winter's
dusk: Anne the kitchen-maid scoured the pans; her bony frame seemed
to rattle as she scrubbed with her red hands; she was happy because
she was hungry and there would be a beef-steak pudding for dinner.
She sang to herself as she worked.
Upstairs in the dining-room Maggie Cardinal, the only child of the
Rev. Charles, sat sewing. She hoard the jangling of the church hell;
she heard also, suddenly, with a surprise that made her heart beat
for a moment with furious leaps, a tapping on the window-pane.
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