Maggie, as she looked at her, did not need to be told that she did
not believe in Mr. Warlock's mysticism. She came across and shook
Maggie's hand. Her touch was cold and stiff and a little damp like
that of a wet stone.
"Sorry your Aunt's out," she said, "but I can talk to you for a
while." She looked at Maggie for a moment. Then she said:
"Why don't you clear out of all this?"
The voice was so abrupt and the words so unexpected that Maggie
jumped.
"Why don't I?" she repeated.
"Yes, you," said Miss Avies. "You've no place here in all this
business. You don't believe in it, do you?"
"No," said Maggie.
"And you don't want to use it for something you do believe in?"
"No," said Maggie. "Well then, clear out."
Maggie, colouring a little, said:
"My aunts have been very good to me. I oughtn't to leave them."
"Fiddlesticks," said Miss Avies. "Your life's your own, not your
aunts'."
She sat down and stayed bolt upright and motionless near the fire;
she flung a thin dark shadow like a stain on the wall. There was a
long pause between them. After that abrupt opening there seemed to
be nothing to say.
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